


Lawboys and Aliens

by A_Diamond, ByelingualBH (ByeBH)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Claire Novak, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Space, Bobby Singer is Dean and Sam Winchester's Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mutual Pining, Rowena MacLeod Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Star Wars References, Switching, Unrequited Crush, annoying little brothers who moonlight as shitheads, bad metaphors, fake NASA real NASA, sassy ai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByeBH/pseuds/ByelingualBH
Summary: For all intents and purposes, it made sense to assume that Castiel was retired. But when his children are stolen away by space traffickers- say it with me- spirates, the quest to rescue them unveils staggering secrets.And if that wasn't bad enough, Dean's stuck trying to navigate the hot and cold of Castiel's slipping composure. Not to mention the company of an annoying little brother, a disconcerting and overtly sexual space witch, a freakishly strong Lady Thor and a sassy AI. That last one was definitely going to be a problem.---What happens when you mix Space AU, BOC lyrics and Dadstiel and shake well? This. This happens.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Past Castiel/Meg Masters - Relationship, Rowena MacLeod & Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Bang, and I couldn't have asked for a more amazing team. I saw the art by [A_Diamond](https://adiamond.tumblr.com/) and I was mesmerized, even though I initially had _no_ clue where I'd go with it. Go check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950173).
> 
> A heartfelt thanks to [inlovewithsaturn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inlovewithsaturn) and [ elephino_forthehalibut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephino_forthehalibut), my phenomenal betas.
> 
> Alright. Bon Appétit!

Part 1  
Simmer The Plot Till It Reaches Desired Consistency

**Sioux Falls, SD**  
**07.02.2014**

“Number five,” Dean grunted, trying desperately to ignore the itch under his nose. He wiggled his fingers impatiently. “Dammit Benny. _Wrench_!”

“Right, yeah, sorry!”

There was an ominous clatter.

He sighed. He’d have to reorder the rack _again_ because Bobby’s little pet project was too messed up to keep his hands still. Cool metal prodded at his extended palm, tempering his rising ire. He muttered a gruff thanks.

“I’ll get the rack,” Benny called sheepishly.

Dean stared up at the undercarriage. She was a fine lady, yeah, but damn if she wasn’t a testy bitch. ’64 Cobra, lively as the day she was born, with a little help from Dean. Not much older than his own Baby. He sighed again, “No, you won’t.”

“I _will_.”

“No, you fuckin’ won’t,” Dean growled, pulling himself out from under the car. “’Coz you get the goddamn order mixed up. Every time.”

“Your order don’t make sense, brother,” Benny snarked. Big words for a man who looked like a strong wind would knock him down. Dean glared at him, noting the pasty pallor of his skin, the sunken eyes. “You get any sleep last night?” he demanded. He did not need a guy braining himself on any exposed tools. Not in his shop. Bobby’s shop, whatever.

Benny shoved his hands into his pocket in response, shrugging.

Dean fixed him with _a look_. “Then how the fuck would you know what makes sense and what don’t?”

Benny shot him an annoyed frown. Didn’t matter. Dean had a point and they both knew it. 

Still, dude _was_ having a rough one. Week, month, day, take your pick. Dean reached into the mini-fridge Bobby had put into the shop for them and grabbed a beer and a water, tossing the latter to Benny in lieu of an olive branch.

“Thanks,” the man mumbled, uncapping the bottle and taking a long draw.

Dean turned to the car, surveying her and trying to run down the list of repairs she’d come in for. But brains of the operation, he was not. That’s why Bobby’d hired Benny in the first place. Dean didn’t _need_ an assistant, but he sure could use one. While the man got his shit together, at least. After that? Well, he _could_ buy one of those white boards and doodle pretty flowers on it.

He snorted, imagining Bobby’s reaction. “How’s the job hunt going?” he asked, to fill up the empty silence.

“Goin’ nowhere,” Benny huffed. “Can’t get a meeting with the powers that be, or I’d be outta here before the door could hit my ass.” Fair enough. If he’d gotten his GED, he’d probably be holed up in a tiny cubicle beside Sammy’s corner office. Wouldn’t be working for Bobby, even though he loved the old grump. “But if they see a junkie, they see a junkie. ’Sides, NASA ain’t lookin’ to rehire after they kicked me for malpractice. Their case is airtight, even if it’s wrong.”

His head snapped to the side in surprise, “You worked at NASA?”

“Mighty ones fall hard, brother,” Benny chuckled humorlessly.

“No, man, I’m tellin’ you something here,” Dean insisted. “You really wanna go back there?”

“We’ve established that I do, yes,” the man rolled his eyes. “My hands may be steady as a leaf in the wind, but I still got the same mind. Besides, it’d be nice to have money and not blow it on destroying my body.”

Dean huffed, throwing an arm around the other man’s shoulder and steering them to the door. “I’ll get you that meeting. Don’t you worry, crackhead.”

“Thought I told you to stop calling me that. I identify as a meth-head.”

He rolled over that disturbing, moderately alarming jibe. “My little brother works at NASA. Law or ethics or some shit. Got a silver tongue, that kid,” he promised, a slight skip in his step as they made their way to Bobby’s for some artery-clogging grub.

When John had driven away in an old gas-guzzler Bobby had been fixing up, over two decades ago now, Dean hadn’t known he’d never see his father again. Dad had left for some business, as he was wont to do on a weekly basis. Only difference was that he’d dropped Sam and Dean off at Bobby’s instead of a roach motel. They hadn’t been complaining.

Except four weeks later: “ _We’re sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._ ”

Hadn’t seen hair nor hide of the man since. Dean had been nine and Sammy only five. Neither knew what they’d done to drive their Dad away.

Bobby, who’d been a bitter, drunk,old widower as long as the brothers had known him, had scraped together enough money to put his adopted kids through school. Well, almost.

At seventeen, Dean had walked in on Bobby during a phone call with what one may characterize as a ‘last resort (and leave it at that)’. He’d dropped out the next day, getting a refund that would make sure Sammy was named valedictorian at his high school graduation.

They’d still ended up at the same place, much to Dean’s amusement. At least, for a while. After the mess that happened two years ago, they’d drifted apart. That wasn’t what he wanted to think about right now, though.

“ _Dean_?”

He cleared his throat, “Hey, little brother.” He winced at the pitch of his voice. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Good,” Sam responded, slowly. There was a soft clink in the background. Probably a steaming cup of organic, fair-trade, no-leaves-were-harmed-in-the-making-of-this herbal tea. Sam had always been into that hippy-dippy yoga crap. “And, how are you?”

 _Well, here goes nothing._ “Got a favor to ask.”

“Oh?”

He tried to read into Sam’s tone, but damn if law-school hadn’t made the kid clever. Neutral as the Swiss. “Yeah, you hear about Benny? New guy Bobby hired at the shop?”

“Oh,” Sam’s voice rose in clarity. “Yeah, yeah, Bobby was telling me about him. Sounds like a stand-up guy . . . substance-abuse issues aside.”

“Mm-hm,” Dean hummed distractedly, eyes catching on his own reflection in a junker’s window. “Used to fix up rocket parts at NASA.”

“Right,” Sam tapered off awkwardly. “Uh. _Real_ NASA? Or like . . .”

“No, yeah,” Dean halted his pacing. The ground under his feet actually looked an inch or two deeper. Had he literally worn tracks into the earth? “Our buddy doesn’t seem to know about . . . all that. So far.”

“Okay,” there was a pause again. Dean pinched his brow. Then, “Dean, I kinda feel like you’re gearing up to askꟷ”

“He wants back in,” he blurted, resuming his pacing, wandering out to the edge of the junkyard.

“ꟷ that.”

“Now, before you say anything, he said he never used at work, which is what _they’re_ using as the base of allegations. And he’s a damn fine mechanic. In fact, an auto shop might be too basic for him. Can you wave your magic wand or something?”

There was a long silence on the other end. Then a drawn-out sigh, “Yeah, okay. Give him my number. I’ll see what I can do.”

Dean nodded to himself. He’d done his part. There was still a steaming hot pile of unaddressed shit sitting right _there_ , though. Sam cleared his throat, “Was that all?”

He swallowed. “What else would it be about?”

Another explosive sigh. “Deanꟷ”

“Hey, call your big brother more often, yeah? Been weeks since we caught up. Okay, well, Bobby’s callin’. G-T-G!” He snapped his phone shut, not sure if Sam had even heard the tail end of his ramble. ‘G-T-G’? Who did he think he was? A tween?

His leg jiggled as he texted Benny, perching onto the hood of a random, dusty car. The only response was a thumbs up emoji. He huffed in amusement, tossed the phone onto the hood beside him, and laid back against the windshield, uncaring of the filth. In a cruel facsimile of the Winchester picnic traditions of yore.

The sky was clear, stars dusted in a pattern that used to seem just right. These days, they looked different.

~~~

**Sioux Falls, SD**  
**09.18.2014**

After Benny bounced back to NASA, Dean found himself bored beyond belief. Bobby, afflicted with an empty house once again, was stuck in another one of his ornery, broody episodes. Sheriff Mills, who usually fished him out of said fits with promises of beer and home-cooked meals, had been touring the countryside with Alex and Patience, two girls she’d taken in.

As for Dean, every other week he’d get a call, probably around midnight, usually right in the middle of a delicious dream where . . . well, you know. And he’d sit up in bed for another three hours, half asleep, trying to get Benny to sync his breathing with Dean’s. Panic attacks had become a new area of expertise for Dean Winchester. He’d never seen that coming. Court-mandated therapy and Benjamin Lafitte _did not_ good bedfellows make.

When his phone rang on a routine night, he blindly fumbled around the nightstand and accepted the call without checking the caller ID. Barely conscious, he mumbled out a slow countdown, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

There was an odd pause after he reached ten.

And a complete lack of hyperventilation of the other end. In fact, the line was pretty much silent.

“Hello?” he rasped, sitting up, managing to wrestle the comforter off himself. 

A beat. Then, “Hello, Dean.”

His breath stuttered in his throat.

It had been . . . a long time since he’d last heard that voice (he’d stopped counting past the 2-year-mark).

“Castiel?” God, that felt wrong. “Cas? ‘S that you?”

“Yeah,” Cas replied, voice quiet and low. Rich as honey, just as he remembered. “Yes, it’s me.”

He was wide awake now. Probably wouldn’t fall asleep again for quite a while, given how hard his heart was pounding in his ears. He wondered if Cas could hear it through the phone. There was a tremulous lull in the conversation. Distinctly, over his own racing pulse, he could hear the soft puffs of Castiel’s breath.

What do you say now? Because remember that pile of unresolved issues between Sam and Dean? Yeah, this one? Fuckin’ Everest compared to that.

“Dean, are you still there?”

Dean physically jolted, blurting out assurances, “Yeah, yeah, I’m right here. I just . . . don’t know what to _say_ , Cas.” The diminutive rolled off his tongue with the ease that came from overuse. Part of him wanted to scream at the man, another wanted to bite his tongue off for blabbering.

“I get that,” Cas huffed, voice strangely even. Castiel never had any problems with concealing his emotions, of course. There must’ve been a time when Dean admired that. But for the life of him, he couldn’t recall. “Hey, Dean? Is there any chance . . .”

His voice was even softer now. Dean licked his lips, pushing away images of an earnest, blue gaze and unruly, dark curls. “Yeah?”

“Can you come over?”

He faltered. Of all things at ꟷ 2 a.m. on a Tuesday ꟷ he hadn’t expected that.

“Are you still there?” Cas repeated.

 _Yes, be right there_ , he wanted to promise. Pavlovian. “Cas, I don’t even know where you live,” he said instead. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he mutters, “You don’t call, you don’t write . . .”

“I’m sorry. I need your help.”

He let out a snort at that, “You’re serious about this? Gimme one good reason, buddy.” So, no apology, no preamble. Jumping right into it.

“Why would I joke about this?” Cas hissed back. Then takes a deep breath. “I need your help because you are the only one who’ll help me. Please.”

And how the fuck is he supposed to say no to _that_? He rubbed at his face tiredly, “Well, you gotta text me your address first.”

~~~

**Pontiac, IL**  
**09.21.2014**

The sun winked at him through a canopy of trees as he slowed to a stop on Castiel’s street. Dean turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Stared at the crate of plants in the backseat as they stared back silently. Judgmentally.

“Shut up,” he told them, hefting the wooden crate and wincing at the splinters that immediately pierced his skin. Walked up to the Stepford white doorway and knocked. Hopped from foot to foot like Sam at age three, post diapers.

Castiel hadn’t aged a day. He looked exactly the same. Dean didn’t know why he’d been expecting otherwise, because his life was unfair like that.

“Hi,” he managed to squeak. He cleared his throat. “Hi. Cas.” As an afterthought, he added, “-tiel.” _Dean “Baby-butt Smooth” Winchester_. Says it right here on the business card.

Cas titled his head to the side, mouth opening to respond. He looked _good_ , decked out in a cerulean sweatshirt somehow the exact same shade as his irises, painted like the sky, five o’clock shadow curving perfectly over the sharp jawline. Dark, unruly hair grown out and messy, like he’d walked out in the middle of getting laid.

While he was drinking in the sight, Dean’s brain to mouth filter went offline (probably due to disuse, because he gushed haltingly, “Nice house. You have.”

God, he’d forgotten how to normal. Cas seemed to be thinking along those lines as well, because he arched an eyebrow at him, mouth ticking up on one side, “But you haven’t even seen it yet.”

At a loss for what to say, he offered the plants up. Like a pitiful ‘spare me, my master’. Cas took them with a look of soft surprise, lips pressing together briefly, “You remembered.”

He chuckled fondly, “I doubt anyone in the crew ever forgot. You only ranted about it every other week.” And that trip down memory lane wasn’t helping at all, because Cas delivering impassioned monologues about plucked flora had always made him go warm inside. Normal people didn’t give a shit about that stuff, not really. Not that Cas was abnormal. He was just special. (Yeah, that sounded like every teacher he’d had in middle school.)

So his little crush on Castiel wasn’t under control. He could deal with it. And maybe flowers weren’t the smartest house-warming gift he could’ve brought. And maybe the context wasn’t helping, either. Because here he was, just a man, offering another man a crate of his favorite flowers. (Here he was, just a man, hopelessly pining after said man.)

He’d even shamefully googled which plants would survive fall in Illinois.

Then that soft, open look shuttered and Castiel stepped back, “Please, come in.” He complied.

It took him a moment to connect the atmosphere with this guy. “Uh . . . Cas?”

He surveyed the old takeout containers littered on the coffee table, the little piles of papers covering the couch and sofa and plastered on the walls, and the empty bottles of alcohol in various states of emptiness. See, Cas was a bit of a drill sergeant. Dean knew for a fact that a lot of his messages from space used to entail reminding his family to clean dishes, water plants, clean out the dryer lint. Man was almost obsessively meticulous. Like, if the zombie apocalypse was happening, Cas would clean and sanitize his weapons after every kill. “Wanna share with the class yet? And . . . where are the kids?”

When Cas turned to face him, in the new light he noticed red rims, purpled bruises, sunken cheeks. “That’s why I called you,” he told Dean. “They’re missing. And I need your help getting them back.”

Well, shit.

_“Dean?”_

_“Hey, Sammy. Guess who I’m with.”_

~~~

**Sioux Falls, SD**  
**09.24.2014**

No matter how gently he rolled Baby into her designated spot, he couldn’t avoid waking Cas. The dozing man started as the engine cut out. Dean watched him watch the house, wondering what was going on in his head. Beyond the obvious, which Dean guessed was a litany of increasingly dire scenarios involving his children.

Here’s the thing. As much as people loved to claim alien abductions, it wasn’t that rampant an issue. Extraterrestrials preferred to stay the fuck away from Earth. Homo sapiens had a bit of an image in galaxies far and beyond. For one, if there was an intergalactic yearbook, Earth would be voted ‘Most Likely to Implode Due to Actions of Own Residents’. So . . . yeah. Peopleꟷ well, not ‘people’, per seꟷ didn’t like them.

So, even if alien abductions were a thing, Earth wouldn’t know. Or so Dean believed, until Cas laid out his research.

It had been literally less than three years, and somehow, Castiel had unearthed the biggest illegal intergalactic operation of all of their careers. Or he’d been _about_ to unearth, rather, because then he’d been sidetracked.

“I like your car,” Cas admitted, dragging him from his quiet contemplation. “I missed her.”

 _Did you miss_ me _? Because I sure missed you._

Swallowing against the unidentifiable, emotional mass in his chest, he patted Cas’s arm, “Let’s go inside. I forced Sam to get pizza.”

Sam, after meeting them at the door, proceeded to immediately jump on Cas and engulf him in a bearhug. Dean smirked at the wide-eyed look the smaller man sported.

“Cas, man,” Sam chuckled in disbelief. “God, it’s been too damn long.”

“Sam,” Cas acknowledged with a friendly nod. Verbose as ever. He patted his little brother on the back and pulled away. Then he extended the large totes he’d been hefting, “Here, hold this.”

Surprised, Sam fumbled to keep the bags from crashing onto the floor as Cas abruptly turned away. Dean snickered at him.

“Jerk,” Sam grinned.

“Bitch,” Dean snapped back. It was good to see the kid. It’d been a while since Jody’s Easter thing. “You need a haircut, Chewbacca.” Then, struck with a stroke of genius, he turned to Cas, “Wait, can that be his code-name? Chewbacca?”

Cas just chuckled as though Dean hadn't been seriously asking.

The three guys made their way inside, where Bobby was patiently twiddling his thumbs, having rolled his chair up to the doorway.

“Come here, boy,” he groused, like a true old man. He pulled Cas down into a brief hug. Dean hung back, weighing the pros and cons of sharing an awkward hug when his turn came. Cons won out, and he scurried to where he could see the pies, set up on plates. Sam’s doing, obviously.

He’d say the kid was raised in a barn if he didn’t know for a fact it was a salvage yard.

“Where do you want me to put this, Cas?” Sam asked. Dean took a bite of still-melty cheese and pepperoni, garnished with pools of grease.

Cas was setting down his backpack on the couch. “Just leave it here. It’s just some plants . . .” he turned back to Bobby. “Would you mind watering them for me? They don’t need much attention.”

Bobby chuckled, motioning for Sam and then unzipping the proffered bag. “Asters? Is this another one of your inside jokes?”

Dean felt his ears heat up, admonishing himself for thinking that it meant anything. He chewed rapidly, repeating to himself that he _should_ _not_ be reading into the gesture. Yes, Cas had other plants that weren’t gifted to him by Dean. No, Cas hadn’t brought _those_ along to give to Bobby for safekeeping. That’s all it was.

He stuffed half of a slice into his mouth and grinned at Sam. The asshole bitch-faced, then turned to the other two, “We’ll get them back, Cas.”

“Damn right, you will,” Bobby grunted. He made his way to the coffee table and picked up a tumbler already holding three fingers, extending it to Cas. “Till then, get some of the good stuff in you.”

“Ugh, there’s pizza. Right here,” Dean reminded, gagging a little when he flashed back to his last dance with Bobby’s rotgut.

Cas smiled, “I won’t mind a few fingers.” Dean choked a little.

Sam made a sympathetic face and patted him on the back as Cas demurely sipped his drink. Dean was positive he’d seen the beginnings of a smirk. Cas turned to face the brothers, eyes catching on Dean’s, “I’ll need a ship, Sam.”

Dean could sense Sam fidgeting beside him, even without tearing his gaze away from the azure. “Yeah, I got a contact. Already in the works, buddy. ETA, oh . . .” he glanced at his watch. “Ten hours.”

Cas looked away then, and to Sam, dipping his head gratefully.

“And I got Dean into the onboard training session at . . . fake NASA. Class starts tomorrow, bright and early,” Sam side-eyed him.

Dean flushed. “Dammit, Sam,” he growled. “I’m good to go. Ain’t my first rodeo.”

“Dude,” his little brother had that look in his eyeꟷ the ‘I am one with the law’ one. “You haven’t been in altered gravity _once_ since you left!”

“Wait, what?” Cas’s head shot to him. _Fucking Sam_.

But to be fair, the man hadn’t left a forwarding address. How the fuck was Dean supposed to tell him about quitting?

“Neither have you!”

“Well.”

Dean turned to face the kid with the fiercest scowl he could muster. “You’ve been training to go back on missions?” He just got that stubborn expression Sam reserved to defend the bull-headed stunts he pulled. “Wow, Sammy. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

“Be that as it may,” Sam started. “You could still use a refresher.”

“Those kids have been missing for a month. A _month_ , Sam. Who fucking knows how long that is where they are? And you want me to, what, jump around in zero gravity until I get my space legs back?”

“Well, ideally, you _won’t_ jump around.”

“You know what, bitchꟷ”

“Four months,” a quiet voice interrupted them. The brothers turned, both blinking away the haze of anger. Cas leaned against the back of a couch, staring down into the depths of his glass. Ice clinked. “It’s been four months for them. If they’re where I think they are.” He looked back up at them. “And in case you forgot, I’ve been out there a handful of times without either of you onboard. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Dean swallowed, watching some of that old steel return to Castiel’s gaze. His breath went shallow when the man stepped up to him, eyes locked with his own. “Will you truly be okay without training?”

He nodded wordlessly, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Fixing a ship was like riding a bike. Or so he had been told once.

Cas watched him with a critical eye, as though searching for some answer from his very soul. He must have found it, because he took a step back, “Then we leave in three days.”

He heard Sam inhale sharply, in time with himself. Behind Cas, Bobby sighed. “Drink up then. ‘Coz liquor cabinet’s off-limits from tomorrow.”

Dean groaned.

~~~

**Rachel, NV**  
**09.28.2014**

He could barely make out Cas in the distance. The man in question waved his armꟷ probablyꟷ and ducked into the airlock.

Dean took a breath to steel his nerves, relishing the smell of Earth one last time. Because who the fuck knew how long this would take.

It might be a week on Earth by the time they returned. Or a year. Or, worst case scenario, a decade. His gaze drifted towards Bobby. At risk of sounding sentimental, he warned the man that he would kick his ass if he bit it before they returned. With all due respect.

Bobby, completely disrespecting his wishes, turned misty-eyed. Sam, of course, was a lost cause.

“Lookin’ mighty emotional there, Bobby,” he smiled, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Dumbass,” Bobby sniffed, drawing Dean into a firm hug. Dean’s eyes fell shut. The old man reeked of grime and sweat and whiskey. It was nauseating. But he didn’t mind. “You take care of Sam and Cas out there, okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, nodding firmly against Bobby’s shoulder. He swallowed, though his voice wasn’t nearly as steady as he’d been aiming for when he mumbled, “’Course. I’ll see you soon, old man.”

“You damn well better,” Bobby sniffled again. “Now git before we start lactating.”

He chuckled, pulling away. Sam took his place in a heartbeat.

“And you, boy,” Bobby continued. “Make sure your brother don’t make a fool outta himself. Like an awkward tween at senior prom, this one.”

“Hey!” Dean yelped.

“Ah, amen,” Sam enthused, like a little bitch.

“Now, Jody found a Wave-Linker in some black market bust, and she _insisted_ on loaning it to us for this trip,” he started.

Sam let loose a watery laugh. Dean shrugged, “Well, if she _insisted_ . . .”

“Mm-hm,” Bobby nodded. “So you boys better call me every hour until you zip outta range! Now go settle in before Cas hijacks the damn spaceship,” Bobby smirked, tapping the bill of his ratty hat in farewell. “Idjits.”

Benny, who’d joined the ground control with grace (i.e., only one minor panic attack at the prospect of dozens of extraterrestrial lifeforms), came ahead to take the old man back to the waiting transporter. The brothers watched them disappear into the sleek, black SUV and waved back at the blackened windows.

The car slipped away quietly, sinking into the underground tunnel in moments. Beside him, Sam exhaled loudly.

Cas was already in his seat when they reached the control room, eyes closed and head tilted back inside his helmet. It was the old one, Dean noticed. The one he’d seen Cas don half a dozen times, on different planets, galaxies, ships . . . he was hit by a wave of longing. And not just because the man looked unfairly attractive in a plain charcoal zip-up jumpsuit. He took a moment to simply watch the man while Sam fiddled with his CommsBud, trying to jiggle it into place over his massive, jug ears. (Served him right for being a goddamn giant.)

As if sensing the heavy gaze on himself, Cas’s eyes snapped open and to Dean. Feeling braver that he had in years, Dean stood his ground.

Sam cleared his throat, interrupting . . . whatever had been happening there. “You wanna take a seat so we can start the timer?”

“ _You_ take a seat,” Dean shot back, snapping his own CommsBud over his ear. He and Sam made short work of buckling each other up into the launch suits, well-practiced after their years of flying together. They secured their helmets into place, and Dean frowned at how much bulkier the new suit felt. He swore each new model grew closer to the typical EMUs they used down in _real_ NASA. At least it wasn’t _white_ , jeez. Yet.

“Comms check,” Sam’s voice came clear over the CommsBud.

“Alpha check,” Cas’s gravelly baritone responded.

“Bravo check,” Dean called.

Sam followed, “Delta check.” He paused for a count of five. “External Comms check.”

“Crew Two. Check.” Dean winced at the hum of static.

Okay, so their knockoff comms weren’t top of the line this time around. Not like a rescue was entirely feasible anyway, in the event things went sideways. Cas had a hunch about where the space-traffickers (Dean had lost two-to-one in the vote to call them ‘spirates’) had the kids. But as with all hunches, it was just that. a hunch, and no evidence trail.

But he trusted Cas with his life.

Scratch that. He trusted him with _Sam’s_ life too.

“Sounds good, Gabe,” Cas responded.

_For a given definition of ‘good’._

Dean watched him from the corner of his eye as he let his head rest back against the helmet again. On his other side, fiddling to get a clearer signal, Sam quirked an eyebrow at Dean before following the Commander’s lead.

“Timer set for four hours,” Gabriel called.

Dean blinked in surprise before he remembered . . . yeah. Fucking intergalactic travel. He was going to take a goddamn nap. “So, if y’all wanna take a nap, I’ll wake you in two hours.”

Dean snorted. Yeah, Gabriel and his crew were their only hope if they got lost in space or worse, but he was hard-pressed to trust the dude on that. He shuddered at the thought of waking up in zero gravity with Gabriel cackling, ‘Psych!’ over his CommsBud.

This was just pre-flight jitters. If nothing else, Gabriel was running their old organization now, so it wouldn’t look good if he got a crew yeeted into space unconscious. The new Director would keep that in mind. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

He closed his eyes and counted his inhales in the stillness.

He’d made it to four hundred when Cas muttered, “Delta, mute.” Dean’s eyes snapped open and his breathing pattern went haywire.

“Copy,” Sam called.

“Hey, Dean?” Cas said, voice infinitely softer. His eyes fell shut of their own volition.

“Yeah?”

There was a long pause.

“You overthinking again, Cas?” he smiled. He could almost see pre-flight Cas jiggling his leg on the back of his eyelids.

“Maybe,” Cas whispered.

Dean chuckled. “We’ll get them back. Winchesters don’t fuck up. And if we do, we deal with it.”

Despite their separation, he felt the palpable change in the air. Cas’s tone was much cooler when he responded, “Right.”

Off-kilter, he backtracked, “Wait, I didn’t meanꟷ”

“ASTERIA, switch on Delta’s CommsBud.”

_What’d I even do?_

“Delta, your Comms status is online,” the in-craft AI called, voice curling around the traces of an Irish accent. So, Gabriel’s tech wizardꟷ some kid fresh outta high schoolꟷ had not been kidding about being a Marvel guy.

“Delta check,” Sam called tentatively, as if he’d heard every word. “So . . .” 

“L – 210 minutes,” Cas called.

“Uh, okay then,” Sam cleared his throat again. Dean winced. This was going to be a long, long wait.

~~~

_If only you had been there my dear_  
_We could have shared this together_  
_No mortal was meant to see such wonder_  
_One look in the mirror told me so_


	2. Chapter 2

~ Came the last night of sadness ~

**A lightyear away from Oziome, Redshift 7 (CR7)**  
**12.22.2008 Earth + 3 Years, 3 Months, 11 days**

The mission went to shit.

When you land on an unfamiliar planet and HQ orders you to split up for expediency, things often go to shit. (That being said, Dean was sure there were cases when that plan didn’t backfire. But in this case, it did. Very much so.)

It started with Sam destroying his Comms unit, chuckling uneasily, “Hey guys. Funny running into you here.” It ended with Cas physically hauling Dean into the airlock, sans one little brother. Because the samples they’d harvested were ‘priority’. Dean had stared at him, half out of his mind in his frenzy.

“Cas, maybe we shouldꟷ” Gabriel started, hesitant. But apparently Commander Cas wasn’t in a listening mood. He shut up his second-in-command with a raised hand. Gabriel shrugged at Dean, as if to say, ‘I tried’.

To which, Dean said, ‘fuck that’. He shoved Cas back into the doorway, _hard_. “We’re going back to get my brother. Now.”

“The hostiles are literally on our tail,” Balthazar reminded snippily. Dean flipped him off with one gloved hand. 

Cas was staring at him with big blue eyes. But given that Dean had grown up with one Samuel Winchester, it didn’t do much.

“Sometimes these things happen,” Anna started, brimming with false sympathy that actively made him want to throw up.

“Shut up, Anna. You have no emotions; you don’t get to talk,” he reminded, turning back to Cas with his own version of a pleading look. Cas, who’d grown up with several other individuals orphaned early in life, wasn’t fazed. He wasn’t a stone-cold bitch about it like Anna was, but he wasn’t budging either.

Dean tried again, “Protocol says we walk away when the situation is unsalvageable or when we see proof of death.”

“The situation _is_ unsalvageable, Dean,” Cas insisted. Reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Dean made an effort to not shove him again, as much as he wanted to. The team was retreating into the ship, Gabriel ushering an irate Anna away with insincere noises. “There’s no reason for these people to keep Sam alive. They . . .” he squeezed Dean’s arm gently. “they probably shot him on sight.”

Nope. Didn’t happen. Didn’t see a body, didn’t hear a weapon discharged.

“Dean,” Castiel leaned closer, fingers reaching up to pry off Dean’s helmet. Dean was hit by the other man’s unmistakable scent; the scent of ozone from their suits mingling with the faint undertones of wood, and the overtones of charred metal that came from space travel. “Sam destroyed his tracker and comms unit. Even if we do go out there, there’s no guarantee we’d find him. I’m really sorry.”

“You’d go back if it was Gabriel. That asshole isn’t even your biological brother, but you’d go back for him,” he grit out. He fisted the front of Cas’s suit in his hands, glaring down the kicked-puppy expression. As a testament to his self-control, he didn’t hurl the guy into outer space without a helmet. Just moderately shook him a bit, “I will hijack this ship if I have to. I’m not leaving my little brother behind.”

They were almost nose-to-nose, and normally Dean would have a different reaction to that. But in that moment, Castiel was just an obstruction in his path. He shook him again.

“And that's why I told Cas not to put the codependent kin together on this mission,” Anna had slipped her chaperones. In front of him, Cas suddenly looked very alarmed.

Before Dean could react, or even untangle himself from the other man, he felt a sharp pinch at the back of his neck. The world swirled a little bit.

“Oh, you bitch,” he slurred with feeling, knees buckling as they refused to hold him up anymore.

“Anna!” Cas snapped. Strong arms wrapped around him and he let himself fall forward, just for a little support till his head stopped swimming. “I’ve got you,” Cas whispered. Dean let his eyes fall shut; they weren’t doing much to keep the darkness at bay anyway.

He woke to the ship docking. A quick fumble with his tablet revealed that they were still, in fact, in CR7. A sudden tremble permeated his form as he realized what that meant.

It wasn’t until he’d grabbed Sam, a little worse for wear, into a teary hug that he’d managed to stop.

Three weeks later, everything else went to shit.

Anna sold Cas out, that _utter_ _bitch_. The rest of the crew got their licenses suspended, she walked away with a hefty bonus and the promise of a promotion. Cas had disappeared before Dean could form an apology.

He’d tried to go back to work, after being met with an empty house where Castiel’s family was supposed to be. Guilt pooled in his feet, like lead, deciding it would stay awhile. The morning of his reinstatement, they’d refused to carry him through the threshold.

After that, it was just easier to drive over to Bobby’s for a beer, and then slide under a car in gratitude. And if he got paid for that, well. Nothing to look forward to at HQ anyway. Not anymore.

~~~

_Then the door was open and the wind appeared_  
_The candles blew then disappeared_  
_The curtains flew then he appeared,_  
_saying don't be afraid_


	3. Chapter 3

Part 2  
Sam Winchester and the Goblet of Mutual Pining

**Time Barrier, Hercules A (3C 348)**   
**09.28.2014 Earth + 8 Months**

Dean hated space sickness. From the bottom of his heart, he hated nothing more than he hated space sickness.

“Dude,” Sam drawled, face screwed up in distaste. Dean had no delusions that he smelt like a bouquet of roses, but the little shit could _try_ to be tactful. “How are you _still_ throwing up? We’re not even in zero-gravity anymore.” But they _had_ been. And his digestive system was holding it against him, on and off since the artificial gravity had gone wonky a week ago.

(It was a well-timed (read: frustrated) punch that had reset the system, of course.)

Outwardly, Dean just moaned pitifully in response, sinking down against the door of his pod. He’d be darting back inside in ꟷ his throat convulsed ꟷ T-2 minutes anyway.

“This is why I told you to train,” Space Cadet Chewbacca continued his crowing, casually tapping away on his eReader.

“Sammy, I swear,” he gulped, screwing his eyes shut as his stomach lurched dangerously. “I will throw up in your _hair_.”

“Jeez, touchy.”

“Sam, stop torturing your brother and set up the Wave-Linker to any Oziomei incoming signals.” Dean sagged in relief at Cas’s sharp command. Sam slunk off, mumbling bitterly under his breath. A cool hand pressed against his forehead and he leaned into it with a grateful moan. He had no strength to be embarrassed about how clammy his face was or how utterly pitiful that sound was.

“Rough travel, huh?” Cas muttered. Dean paused. Bastard was smiling, he could _hear_ it in his tone.

“Glad to know my pain is so entertaining to you,” he bitched, though he made no move to pull away when Cas started carding his fingers through his hair. Fingernails dragging along his scalp trumped self-respect, even on a good day. In keeping with the theme, he might even have cried a little bit.

The other man sank down onto the floor beside him, and he couldn't stop his body from listing sideways. He ended up leaning heavily into Cas’s warmth. Which, well, you didn’t have to tell him how alluring it was. Cas was not young, in the traditional sense of the word. He had two teenage kids, one of which he _hadn’t_ acquired partially grown. For fuck’s sake, he was still toting _that_ physique. Whoever had come up with the term ‘dad bod’ definitely hadn’t seen Castiel.

"Imma need that door in a minute."

Cas hummed quietly. "No, you won't."

"Tellin' you; I really, really will," Dean informed him urgently. 

"Hush."

Dean whimpered as his stomach rolled again. “I won’t be mad if you hide some scopolamine in my applesauce. You can lock me in my room, I won’t even care.”

"Do you want me to hum Metallica?" Cas whispered instead.

Dean cracked an eye open, "Will you?“

Cas pursed his lips as if pondering some great, philosophical question. "No. I don't think I will."

His own mouth popped open in offense. "Asshole." All he got was an amused smile. "Will you hum something else?”

Cas gave that some deep thought, "Kansas?“

He was willing to consider that. "Which song?“

"I do a pretty mean rendition of ‘Carry on My Wayward Son’."

"Ugh, no. I hate that song."

Cas huffed. "Taylor Swift, then?"

Dean scowled with vitriol. "I'm _never_ telling you anything, _ever_ again."

"‘Love Story’? Or something a little more recent?“ there was a full-fledged shit-eating grin on the man's face now. 

"Fuck you, Commander Dickhead."

Cas laughed, curling an arm up and around Dean's shoulder, "Come on. You got through this before. Without dehydration. Mostly."

He had to concede to that point. Even if that had been . . . well, _before_. He let Cas rearrange him, leaning against the other man’s strong thigh. His head fell back onto a shelf of shoulder and his heart swooped into his gut. 

It felt nice. Too nice. 

He'd missed thisꟷ this casually tactile aspect of their . . . friendship. The more he reminisced about the good ol' days, the higher the pile of unresolved issues got. 

He swallowed against the thick silence, broken only by Dean’s harsh breaths and Cas’s infinitesimally softer ones. "Cas . . ." his voice hitched and he broke off. 

"No, not right now," Cas said quietly, all mirth leached from his voice. Dean withered. "Just breathe with me," he instructed. "Count. Like you do to calm down."

Dean didn’t have the energy to bristle at that. It was a meditation technique, it was to abate a panic attack . . . ‘tomayto, tomahto’. He counted. 

At forty-five, Cas started humming the opening bars of 'Hey Jude'. Dean closed his eyes and let the low rumbles wash over him. 

He didn’t realize he’d drifted off until Cas was shaking him awake. He smacked his lips, grimacing at the taste, “Time jump?”

“Time jump,” Cas confirmed.

“Ugh,” he sat up, running his tongue over his teeth. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pass out on you.”

A warm hand patted his back. “It’s okay. You didn’t drool _too_ much.”

Laughing, he slapped Cas on the chest, pushing to his feet and extending an arm. They walked to the control room together, where Sam was pointedly engrossed in his eReader. Ladies and gentlemen, the subtlest man in space, Sam Winchester.

Dean made his way to the magnetic cabinet and pried it open, pulling out a pouch of water. Cracking away the safety lock, he took a deep sip, swilling the water around in his mouth before swallowing.

“ASTERIA,” Cas called, taking his seat. “Update on the jump.”

“Fifteen minutes, Commander,” she responded. “Please fasten your seatbelts, Bravo.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, stuffing the empty pouch into the trash compactor. He ambled over to his seat and fastened his seatbelts like a good boy. “Happy?”

“I have no concept of happiness, Bravo,” the AI snarked. Of course it did. Goddamn Gabriel.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Gotcha, HAL.”

“I do not understand that reference,” she shot back. He levelled a look of disbelief at his companions. Cas looked mildly amused. Sam, highly so. “Time to jump is ten minutes.”

Dean settled back into his seat, shirt back catching on the velvet. He slapped on his CommsBud.

“Well. See ya on the flipside,” Sam called. “Cas. Jerk.” The engine started to whine.

“Bitch,” Dean called back. “Commander.”

Cas shot him a strange look. The whining intensified. The lights switched off, leaving only the large green monitor before them as the source of light. The visuals dimmed and Dean watched them until the ship’s nose was almost kissing the target.

He shut his eyes. Counted his inhales.

At twenty-seven, the ship broke through the Time Barrier. There was a moment of weightlessness, and the belts on his body dug into skin as they held him securely in place.

“Resetting gravitational force at 9.8 meters per second squared,” ASTERIA called in the hushed silence. He felt his ears pop and his eyes fluttered open.

The visuals were back to full power, the lights were slowly brightening. He stretched his neck to the side, then turned to his crewmates.

Sam’s foot was jiggling in his seat, but he shot back an OK sign. Cas was leaning ahead, recharting their course to Oziome. “Welcome to CR7, crew.”

“Welcome to eternal youth, Commander,” Dean grinned, watching Cas’s lips dip to suppress a smile. Beyond him, Sam was rolling his eyes at Dean. Whatever, he was hilarious. And now, he was going to be hilarious _and_ youthful. Until they jumped back through the Time Barrier, that is. Then he’d go right back to aging like a Muggle.

Dean unbuckled himself, stretching as he stood up. “ASTERIA, how long until we get to Oziome?”

“ETA is currently twelve hours and forty-five minutes,” she responded diligently. “Do you want me to notify the crew an hour before docking, Commander?”

Cas hummed thoughtfully, still fiddling with the Nav. “Do whatever you want.”

“I do not experience ‘want’. And for the better, of course, since we do not want a HAL situation.”

Dean gawped at the ceiling, "I thought you didn't know what I was talking about!"

ASTERIA, like a complete asshole, just played the opening bars of 'Thus Spake Zarathustra'. The other guys didn't even seem remotely concerned but Dean was going to be having a _long_ chat with Kevin Tran. 

Sam, the nerd, didn’t even have the decency to walk around. He’d unbuckled and curled right back up in his seat, eyes glued to the love of his life: his eReader. “ASTERIA, set an alarm for, say, eight hours from now?”

“Yes, Bravo.”

He reached out and placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder, “I’m gonna take a nap, yeah? Projectile vomiting for three hours straight takes it out of a guy.”

Cas had moved on from the Nav, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge Dean, instead waving absently in his general direction. “Of course, Dean. Sweet dreams.”

Okay then.

He pouted all the way to his room. But before he could indulge in some premium sulk time, he landed face-first in his pillow. He was out before his pod door fully slid shut.

Dreams in space were always weird. Cas used to say it was the artificial gravity. Sam just called them weird, because apparently, Sam didn’t _have_ dreams in space. Sure, _they_ were the weird ones.

“Dean!”

He turned and the room was engulfed in lightning. He rubbed his eyes and they opened to a new place. It looked like a barn where a cult was squatting. The doors crashed open and the naked bulbs overhead exploded with a rain of sparks.

“Dean!”

Casꟷ dressed in what could only be described as the universal flasher uniformꟷ strode in. Dean felt his heartbeat thunder in his ears, smelled the air after a lightning strike.

“Dean!” Sam called insistently. He tore himself away, turning to the side to snap at Sam to shut up so he could enjoy the show.

And then he jerked back into awareness.

“Dude, you were out!” Sam was chortling, space suit half undone and hitched at his waist. Dean had a strong impulse to tell him to zip up before he snagged himself on some hook or wire. His head poked back out of Dean’s pod for a moment and he called down the hallway, “He’s up, Cas.”

Dean made an offended, garbled noise. He was _not_. He buried his face back into his pillow, fully intent on going the fuck back to sleep, far away from annoying shitheads who moonlighted as little brothers.

“Rise and shine, big brother! Cas made real food.”

Deeply intrigued, Dean turned to face him. “No rationed MREs?”

“Nope, Charlie promised us we could restock on Oziome. She said we might _never_ have to ration again,” Sam looked giddy at the thought. Dean could relate. He swung his feet off the bed and slipped his socked feet into his Space Runners, flexing his toes in the soothing warmth of the shoes.

The brothers managed to maintain a respectful walking speed as they made their way to the mess, but the moment they were inside, Sam started bouncing on his heels like he had to go pee-pee.

“What’s for dinner, Mom?” Dean grinned in amusement at the sight before him. Cas was wearing an honest-to-god apron over his white t-shirt and dark pants, cheery yellow bees grinning from around his torso. It made the guy look like a complete dork and Dean felt a wave of fondness wash over him.

“Grilled cheese. There’s cream of tomato in the thermoses,” Cas replied, oblivious to Dean’s heart eyes. Typical.

Sam made a noise like an aggressive chew-toy and bounded to a seat. Dean followed at a more dignified pace, reaching out to place a hand on the chef’s (no thinking about kissing the cook, no thinking about kissing the cook) as he moved to the seat beside him, “Thanks, man.”

Cas smiled at him softly, “I didn’t think you’d be able to keep down steak and chips.”

He felt heat rise in his cheek because, dammit. Dammit Cas.

This was precisely how they’d gotten in trouble last time. He was still hopelessly gone for the guy, but _God_. Every time Cas did something nice for him, it made it _that_ _much_ harder for Dean to keep his lips to himself.

Didn’t help that the guy was so damn easy on the eyes. Like, really, really easy. (Had he mentioned that already?)

Sam cleared his throat and Dean realized how close they were standing. He awkwardly shuffled back, sinking into a chair with his tail (and other hanging appendages) firmly tucked between his legs.

"I like the apron," he mumbled, in . . . lieu of an apology (or an IOU). 

Cas actually looked surprised at that, looking down at himself, "Thanks. I think the kids meant it as a gag gift. Joke's on them; I wear it all the time."

Sam smirked, "That'll show them, I bet."

Cas shrugged good-naturedly and Dean studied the tightness around his eyes. Tried not to let the consequent concern show. Castiel looked one trip down memory lane away from . . . something. Possibly a complete mental breakdown. 

Quietly, he bit into the sandwich.

Road to hell . . . his little resolution meant squat in the face of Castiel's culinary abilities. The cheese was the perfect level of melted, and Dean had to physically stop himself from professing his love for the man. Or worse; pick off that little morsel of cheese on Cas’s lips with his own.

_Space crazy_ , he decided. He was going space crazy.

~~~

**Oziome, CR7**   
**09.28.2014 Earth + 0.83 Year [+13 hours]**

“Dean! Sam!”

Dean grinned at the bubbly lady skipping towards them. He jumped off the airlock, feet landing on soft, Oziomei soil. A cloud of bright yellow dust wafted up from under his feet.

“Charlie,” Sam reached her first, the helmet’s conveyer muffling his voice. He wrapped her in a hug, and the Oziomei lady fumbled against the ginormous headgear for a minute. As it was, the Oziomei weren’t big on hugs.

Dean had learnt that the hard way first time around, when he’d pulled Charlie into his arms in farewell and found himself flat on the ground with multiple guns and one wicked-ass machete leveled at him. They’d cleared it up soon enough, the only casualty being Dean’s bruised tailbone.

Suffice to say, he was pretty tentative pulling her into his arms.

“And this is the mission commander, our buddy Castiel,” Sam was saying, looking like he was the only thing keeping the shorter man from sprinting back to the ship till the crew found their way to it. It was kind of adorable, in a hilarious sort of way. “Cas . . . Charlie. Queen of the People.”

Despite his obvious social anxiety, Cas bowed a little, “Your Majesty.”

“Commander,” Charlie greeted, flashing him a bright-eyed grin. “I look forward to accompanying you on your journey.”

“Thank you for your kind offer of assistance. And please, you can call me Cas.”

“Cas. Then you must call me by my given name,” she pronounced her name in her native tongue. Cas started looking flighty again. Dean had no idea how the man had managed to survive a long-term relationship with Meg Masters. (From the anecdotes, he gathered it was a near thing.)

Sam chuckled, coming to his rescue, “Just say ‘Charlie’, Cas. That was her first call sign and she’s adopted it as her name for our convenience.”

“Is that why you insisted on being Delta?” Cas’s eyebrows jumped. At Sam’s nod, he shrugged, as if to say, ‘fair enough’. Then he turned back to her. “Charlie,” Cas nodded, looking comically relieved.

Meanwhile, Dean squinted at her. “Did you do something to your form?”

“Dean!” Sam hissed.

But Charlie merely laughed. “I cut my hair. Aliens get haircuts too, Earthling.”

Dean grinned, “I like it. Suits you.”

“That’s what I said,” an ethereal voice hummed. The humans looked beyond Charlie as the air seemed to shift. Stevie (for lack of a direct translation), Charlie’s wife, materialized. An umber black arm curled around the redhead’s pale one. “Hello, Earth humans.”

“Hey, Stevie,” the Earth humans chorused. Charlie had one-hundred percent scored herself a babe, but Dean was looking respectfully.

“Castiel,” she smiled beatifically. “Sam and Dean. I like your . . . heads.”

Dean suppressed a snort, watching Cas try to figure that one out without offending foreign royalty. He settled on a polite smile, “Thank you. The . . . helmet prevents us from inhaling the opiates in your airspace.”

“Yeah, we don’t want a repeat of _that_ ,” Dean muttered. Mistakes had been made and he had no desire to pull the memories from the pit of repression.

“It’s quite overwhelming to your kind, yes,” another voice interjected. “Welcome to Oziome, friends.”

“Your Majesty,” Sam dipped his head in acknowledgement, while Dean extended an arm towards the lady.

“Dorothy – Cas,” Dean introduced. “Cas, this is Dorothy. The Queen of the State.”

To his credit, Cas rolled with it, managing to not put his foot in his mouth like Sam and Dean had the first time they’d visited Oziome. A flash of red caught his eye and he turned.

A female figure stood to the side, clearly not from around there, watching the proceedings keenly.

Eyes that glowed with an ethereal purple shine, which was his first clue, surveyed the three of them. The Oziomei looked fairly similar to humans. The geek in Dean had carefully cataloged and compared the Oziomei lifestyle with medieval Earth. It was probably why he liked the planet so much; it was straight out of LotR. (And he wasn’t admitting to anything, but if he ever went MIA, he’d probably be found on that planet.)

Except that they were far more developed than Earth could ever hope to be. And much nicer and harmonious and harmless. Like Canada to Earth’s America, without the attempts to stifle indigenous voices and assorted human contrivances . . .

“Can we help you?” Sam, who’d followed his gaze, asked her.

She was _tiny_. Like, she probably came up to Dean’s chest, which was normal, but she looked skinny enough that he could probably wrap both hands around her waist. Like what he’d imagine a pixie looked like, if ultraterrestrials existed. Distinctive, tight red curls cascaded over her chest, framing her pale, angular face.

“Oh, I bet you can, sweetie-pie,” she simpered. Dean blinked. _Scottish?_

Her eyes scanned all three of them . . . and she made a low, guttural sound. “I’m not fussy about the details, but I _bet_ all three of you can.”

“Raachhkh-when-ya,” or something, Charlie said with a put-upon sigh. “ _Behave_.”

The woman fluttered her long, red lashes at them, “I’m sorry, my Queen. They’re just so delectable. I had no idea Earth churned out such fine specimens.” She breathed deeply, “Oh, and so virile too. This will do just fine.”

Dean squinted at her, “Are you like, a Scottish alien?”

The lady laughedꟷ a high, tinkling sound that sounded closer to chimes than a vocalization. “Scottish? Please. Those little Earthlings probably heard _our_ forefather speak and immediately tried to imitate him.”

He considered that. Made a lot of sense, actually.

“There’s no wonder left in the world anymore,” Stevie lamented wistfully.

“Sam, Dean, Cas, this isꟷ” Dorothy pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You should be able to pronounce ‘Rowena’. She’s a . . .” she halted again, searching for the proper translation. “A witch, you might say.”

“Whoa, what?” Cas demanded.

‘Rowena’ clucked her tongue at them, “Och, please. I specialize in growing things of the landꟷ”

“Plants,” Charlie supplied.

“Yes, that. And I harness the energy of the soul and spirit to achieve feats which simple creatures as yourself deem magic.”

Dean gaped at her.

“So . . . a witch,” Sam muttered, staring at her avidly. And . . . yeah. Oh, he could almost _see_ the little crush developing on Sammy’s face. The covert smile Cas shot his way assured him that it wasn’t his overactive imagination.

“Witchery sounds so crude,” she scrunched a dainty, sharp nose at them. “It’s a very specialized skill, tall human. It takes us a long, long time to develop our minds just so.” She chimed again, shoulders rising. “Well, it used to.”

The humans stared at her in incomprehension, and thenꟷ in perfect syncꟷ turned to the Oziomei.

“Rowena’s galaxy has been consumed by another. She is the last of her kind we know of,” Dorothy explained. Then, looking slightly hesitant, she added, “She would prove an asset to your mission, we believe.”

“That, and these Oziomei can’t wait to rid their planet of me. The ways of my kind intimidate them to no end,” Rowena interjected, following it up with a low, tutting sound. “Which is fine by me, of course. These beings are so . . . benign.”

“That’s not a bad thing. You know that, right?” Cas narrowed his eyes at her.

“If you abhor adventure, sure,” she retorted, scarlet lips stretching wide.

“You’re welcome to join us, of course,” Sam offered, apropos of nothing. Dean and Cas turned to him with twin expressions. The general ‘what the fuck, dude’ kind. The kid merely shrugged, “I was lost in space, a while ago. Someone pulled me to Oziome. You look like them.”

Dean faltered at that. Rowena shrugged noncommittally, claiming she had no idea what he was referring to.

Shooting Cas a quick glance, he shrugged, “Sure, whatever. The more the merrier.”

She flashed him a real grin, revealing sharp teeth, “That’s what I keep telling these two.” She gestured at Charlie and Stevie and no. Nope. He wasn’t touching _that_ with a ten-foot pole. Or from another galaxy.

“Well, with that uncomfortable sexual advance, I will let you take your leave, my friends,” Dorothy declared. “Return home safely,” she added something in her native tongue. Then she looked skywards and called, “ _Quox_!”

He felt rather than saw Cas’s surprise when two giant, dark forms descended before them. As the dragons carried them off, Dorothy and Stevie waved in farewell.

That’s what Dean had decided those were (because he was just a human with a very human brain that couldn’t deal with much without possibly shattering beyond repair). The _dragons_ , as he insisted to himself, took off with powerful beats of their bat-like wings.

“Well then. Shall we, sweet things?” Rowena clapped her dainty hands.

Take-offs were always smoother from Oziome.

Sam and Cas cited some scientifically accurate shit, like the soil structure and the atmospheric pressure. Dean personally believed it was that one (cross his heart) lusty lungful he snuck before boarding. To each their own. That poppy air was some _good_ _stuff_ , okay?

He sobered up around the four-hour mark, which meant he was walking off the dregs of the early onset hangover. He’d taken one look at the wiggling green stuff in the mess hall and about-faced, leaving Rowena to hurl sexually charged insults at his back.

“Sam,” he poked his head into Sam’s pod, which was bare as the day it had been put together, save for the books. “Sammy.”

Sam continued to ignore him.

Dean drew in a deep breath. “ _Saaaaam_.”

“ _What_?” Sam snapped, flinging his book onto the bed aggressively.

“Whatcha doin’?” he drawled. Sam stared at him like he couldn’t believe him, before very deliberately retrieving the book.

“Sa. . . Am,” Dean sang.

“Dude, go bother Cas or Charlie. I’m _reading_.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffing, “You’re always reading.” He let the kid be, however, before they ended up with a ruptured blood vessel in space. He dipped back out into the hallway, departing with witty commentary, “I can’t believe you brought books _and_ an eReader. Which one’s the side piece?”

Snickering at the thump of a book hitting the door behind his closed back, he tapped on his CommsBud, “Echo, you read?”

“Oh!” there was an odd squelching noise. “Yes, Bravo. What is it?”

“Is the kitchen covered in your goopy plants?”

Rowena hummed. “Seems that way, yes.”

“Great,” Dean cribbed. “Lemme know when it’s safe to forage for food.”

He walked up and down the hallway, coming to a stop outside Cas’s door. He knew better than to interrupt Charlie this soon after separating from Stevie. He _did_ _not_ need another traumatizing lesson. Cas, though.

Even if Cas was jerking off in there, Dean wouldn’t mind a peek.

No, what the hell. He was going to knock. He did that.

There was no response. Dean counted to ten, chewing the insides of his cheeks. Throwing caution to the wind, he pressed down the lever, calling out over the hiss of the door, “Cas, you better have your pants onꟷ _oh_.”

“Dean,” Cas muttered, turning his back to the door quickly. But not fast enough that Dean didn’t catch his broody expression. “I didn’t hear you, sorry.”

“Yeah, I knocked . . .” Dean trailed off.

“Did you need anything?”

_Well, I was bored. While you were possibly mourning your family._ “No, Iꟷ” he winced. Stepped inside fully, letting the door slide shut at his back. “Cas, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He approached Cas’s hunched back, tentatively reaching out to place a hand on it.

“I’m fine,” Cas repeated firmly.

“Yeah, tell that to those knots in your back,” Dean replied, fingers prodding at one. “You need, like, a chiropractor or something. ASAP.”

Cas didn’t respond, his head angled away and downwards. He’d gone very still. Dean shifted to the side so he could lean against the wall-mounted desk. If that placed him chest-to-shoulder with Cas, well, that was just because the desk was small.

He dug his fingers into the line of Cas’s shoulders, shying away from direct skin contact. The other man loosened up under his ministrations, head lurching forward and hand dropping onto the desk with a dull thump. Dean’s eyes flicked downwards, following the movement.

It was a picture, partially obscured by long fingers. He could make out the kids, grinning at the camera. The adults . . . not so much. Cas’s own head, whatever he could see of it, was turned to the side. A dark-haired woman, who had to be Meg, was in turn curled forward in pained laughter.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. The man said nothing. He cleared his throat, gently tracing the edge of the neckline, and continued, “I like the brunette look too.”

The answer seemed to be pulled from deep within him, “Yeah, me too. She changed it after we adopted Claire. I think they wanted to match.”

Dean watched the stony calm on his face, “You were hitting _way_ out of your league.”

The odd compliment caught him off-guard, because he chuckled. “That’s what she said.”

Yep, worst time to make that joke. Dean shook his head with a grimace. Cas hurried to clarify, “I mean, you sound like her.”

Way too much to untangle there and Dean was _not_ attempting. He switched the subject, “She does look like a woman who’d fight off a bear with nothing but a pair of hot skewers.”

“I told you about that, huh?” Cas smiled softly, finally turning to face him.

“And the wasps.”

“Oh dear,” Cas feigned horror.

“And that time she coerced you into a jungle safari and then into getting lost in said jungle because she wanted to separate from the tour group.”

“I still have nightmares. I haven’t been able to go camping since!”

Dean chuckled. “Screw camping. Haven’t you heard? It’s all about glamping now.”

Cas turned back to the picture, smile freezing on his features. “Jack loves the outdoors. I promised him we’d go once I got over my trauma.”

Dean turned his gaze to the bare wall before him. Did trauma even apply to Cas anymore? Did it just get assimilated into some overused trauma schema? “There’s nothing in this world that kid _doesn’t_ love. Stop the presses when you find something.”

“He didn’t like it when Claire recruited him to toilet paper a mean kid’s house.”

“What, no egging?”

“We don’t like to waste food.”

Dean clucked his tongue in mock disapproval. “What have you done to those kids?”

“Endangered them,” Cas sighed heavily. “What if it’s been too long? Or . . . too late?”

Dean stilled, heartbeat pulsing at his fingertips as they rested against the collar. “Can’t think like that. You know the drill. Lose faith in the missionꟷ”

“ꟷ lose faith in life, yes, I remember.” There was a beat, then he slowly leaned sideways, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. Who, for his part, froze. Cas was very generous with affection and comfort. Less so when he was the one seeking them, though. (And, well, the history here.)

Carefully, as though trying not to spook him, Dean wrapped his arms around him. They stood like that in painful silence, Cas with his face buried in Dean’s shoulder, till Sam knocked on the door.

~~~

**Unidentified Spacecraft, CR7**   
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 3 Months 23 Days**

Okay, he hated _one_ thing more than he did space sickness.

Monsters.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam exhaled, coming up to him where he was stationed near one of the cargo containers suspended in space. Sam glanced at the blank metal walls and turned to him, quirking an eyebrow, “Are they . . .?”

“All dead,” Dean interrupted stonily. “Don’t open that hatch.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam repeated. He swallowed convulsively, and Dean wondered if he was going to throw up. He hoped not . . . ralphing in your helmet was the lowest circle of hell. And yes, he’d learnt that the hard way. Plus, if Sam went, he’d set Dean off. (Hell was nice, but one visit a lifetime is the perfect amount.)

“Were there any humans?” Rowena drifted to them gracefully, clipping her tether onto Dean’s. He had tried not to melt into a puddle of envy when they’d learnt she had spatial control in zero gravity.

“Couldn’t tell,” he bit out, trying to push away flashes of horrifying visuals. He wasn’t sleeping for a month, otherwise. God, he needed a drink. Or some weed.

“Well, what if . . .”

“No,” Sam shook his head firmly. “They’re not in there. They’re not in there, right?” he directed the last bit at Dean, who winced.

“I’ll check,” he replied, steeling his nerves. For Cas. Face tight in pain, he flicked back the hatch and peered back inside.

It was still horrible the second time around.

His gaze swept around the crate perfunctorily while he forced himself to imagine they were props. The blood and viscera and other fluids were just makeup and corn syrup. He was watching a very realistic portrayal of a massacre in space.

It didn’t look that quick though. Some of them had starved to death, strewn about in shit and vomit and decay.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t seen any humans inside. He flung the panel shut with far more force than necessary.

_‘Because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.’_

Space didn’t have any birds.

“Alpha, Charlie approaching,” static hummed in his ears. He turned back to see Charlie, holding onto Cas, pulling them towards the brothers and Rowena. Judging by the thunderous expression on Cas’s face and the hard lines on Charlie’s, they hadn’t had much success either.

Though success was relative, in this case.

Cas met his gaze as Charlie snapped her tether onto Sam’s, half-questioning, half-terrified. Dean shook his head, and the warring emotions gave way to calm disappointment.

“Do you think there are more prisoners on board?” Sam muttered over the CommsBud. Even through the helmets, Dean could see how pale his brother was.

The five of them turned to face the huge, phallic ship before them.

It’d been funnier an hour ago.

They made it back in record time, much faster than the other way had taken. 

The explosion took them by surprise, and for a minute, Dean was sure they were under attack. One look at Cas’s face had realization slamming into him harder that any gunshot could.

Before he could do anything about it, Sam caught up. And boy, did he catch up. Cas didn’t look remotely fazed when Sam slammed him into the wall. “The hell did you do?”

It was rhetorical, given that they couldn’t help but stare at the supernova out the window.

It was Rowena who came to Cas’s rescue, looking remarkably settled. Which meant she knew, somehow. He had a feeling Cas hadn’t told her. She’d probably be the last person Cas would go to.

“Sometimes, dearie, what appears to be the worst might be the best you can offer,” she said, reaching out to firmly tug Sam away from Cas. With her words, a soft sense of calm washed over Dean, relaxing his coiled muscles, loosening his spine.

Sam was breathing harshly, but he let go and disappeared down the hallway in a flurry of movement.

Cas refused to look at him as he stalked over to the kitchen and helped himself to the Oziomei liquor. “Want a drink?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Charlie excused herself, and then there were three. It took him a couple of fingers to try again, “Cas.” He barreled on before the man could interrupt, “It’s okay.” Cas’s mouth snapped closed. “Done worse shit for _fake_ NASA anyway. No skin off my back.”

Untrue. But the hold on civility seemed tenuous on this mission.

For some reason, that made Cas giggle. Dean stared at him a beat because he was pretty sure he’d never heard Cas _giggle_. “What?”

“Real NASA, fake NASA,” Cas mumbled. “Say that three times fast.”

“What?” Dean bit out.

He shrugged dopily. It was vaguely reminiscent of poppy-air-drunk Castiel. Was Dean just hella tolerant?

“Are you . . .” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. A wave of drowsiness washed over him. He shook his head clear, eyes flicking to Rowena, who looked suspiciously awake. “Are _you_ . . .”

“What?” she asked him, wide-eyed. The corner of her mouth ticked.

Dean shook his head harder, staving off some of the drowsiness, “You’re doing something.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” she responded demurely. After a moment, she shrugged, “Although, you both could use some calm right now, won’t you agree?”

“Dammit Rowena,” he growled, rubbing at his eyes. Cas’s eyes were barely slits now, head still tilted back in an awkward angle. “People don’t like their brains messed with.”

“Mind-altering substances,” she countered without missing a beat, she tapped on Dean’s drink. “Humans are the only ones who willingly partake. And this is hardly that. I’d call it aromatherapy.”

And whoa, he did _not_ want to think of odors and aliens. Nope. “Well, we don’t. The people on _this_ ship don’t like it.”

“But look at the wee angel.”

They both turned to Cas. Dean felt his anger thaw a little bit. He did look a little angelic, all ruffled up and soft and dopey. Refusing to back down though, Dean said, “He’s gonna wake up grumpy if we let him sleep like that.”

“Then you’d best get him to his pod, don’t you think?” she suggested sweetly, idly walking up to the kitchen cabinets and pulling out a mug.

Dean watched her back warily.

“Do you have some sweet tea onboard, perchance?”

“Sam probably brought some, yeah,” Dean muttered, reaching out to pull Cas’s arm up and over his shoulders. He didn’t wake the slumbering man at all. Whatever shit Rowena had pumped into the air, combined with the adrenaline crash, was potent as hell.

He half dragged, half carried a barely cognizant Cas to his pod, depositing him onto the bed gently. The man immediately proceeded to curl up on his side, face falling slack. Dean was left to wrestle the comforter out from under him while trying not to jostle him too much.

He indulged himself a moment, tucking Cas in and then crouching down by his bedside. He reached out a hand and gently carded it through soft dark hair, nails scraping against scalp.

Cas let out a happy hum, murmuring, “Dean.”

“I’m here,” he promised to the curving lips.

Eyes fluttered open. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

He didn’t know who moved first, but he suspected it was himself. (The real culprit here was Rowena, if you thought about it.) His lips found Cas’s soft ones, slowly caressing them in greeting. They were welcomed heartily.

It felt like an itch finally scratched. A gaping wound healed. Like a gulp of air after breaking through the surface of water. Like the touch of sunlight after years on a mirthless spaceship.

He felt teeth scrape against his bottom lip. Tongues united, taking advantage of collapsing bodies. One hand fisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to the heat and scent that was so innately Cas that it made his eyes roll up. He cupped Cas’s face and stroked the rough stubble as he’d always wanted to.

There was a hissing sound and they sprung apart as though tethered to the ends of a spring. He watched the color leech from Cas’s face, as cerulean eyes tore away and then refused to return.

Dean swallowed painfully.

“You should go,” Cas rasped.

The first tendrils of panic prodded at Dean’s mind. The euphoria from moments ago morphed into horror and disbelief. And then came the despair. Because this was a rejection. Cas didn’t want this.

Whatever ‘this’ had been. It was starting to look awfully like lack of consent to Dean.

“Please go,” Cas repeated muddily.

He stumbled out of the pod unsteadily, making straight for the beverage cabinet where Charlie had stocked some of the finest liquor found on Oziome.

~~~

**Magnetic Boundary, CR7**   
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months 3 Days**

Dean was unobtrusively folded into his seat in the control room, fingers sifting through a well-loved copy of Slaughterhouse Five. Inappropriate? Perhaps. Given what they’d just seen . . .

But he blamed Rowena. For a lot of things.

The yogic routine he had to perform every time he wanted a snack? Rowena’s fault. That incident where Dean almost starred in live-action tentacle porn? Rowena’s fault. His newly conditioned response of terror at the sound of chimes? Rowena’s fault. His blatant disrespect of Castiel’s boundaries? That was all on Dean, but Rowena definitely had a hand in it. That gooey-eyed expression on his little brother’s face? Yep, that was all Rowena.

In short, Dean wasn’t hanging out with anyone except Charlie. And Charlie was . . . well. She was Charlie. She’d talk about ‘revels of war’ and ‘feasts celebrating the prosperity of the kingdom’ and Dean would start zoning out.

And so he’d found a nice cubby (read: hiding place) where he could disappear into a fabricated world. Billy Pilgrim had just finished making a jump when a Chewbacca invaded his personal space, sighing mightily and stomping about noisily.

Sam sighed again and Dean prayed for strength from a God he couldn’t give a single fuck about. He snapped the worn paperback shut and glared up at the kid, who was toting Lawboy Look (trademark pending) in all its glory, “ _What_ , Sam?”

“Oh, are you done hiding from literally everyone on the ship?” Sam bitched.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah . . . the control room. My super-secret hiding place where no one ever comes.” You’d be surprised how rarely a crew visited its control room. “Oh no, you’ve discovered it! Whatever shall I _do_?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam squinted thoughtfully at him. “Did something happen with Cas?”

He goggled at the scrunched eyebrows twitching to-and-fro from the most hangdog expression a grown man could master. “Cas? Like, the Commander? Ol’ Captain Castiel?”

Yes, it _had_ been a week of this dodgy bullshit, but he wasn’t the only coward on board.

Cas just acted like this disciplined, detached _superior_ whenever they got into disagreements, which pissed Dean off to no end. It made him feel like the pettiest little bitch in the universe, because ‘the mission is more important than our trivial bouts of impulsivity, Dean.’

And that was mighty kind of Commander Cas too, letting Dean know he was just a ‘trivial’ and ‘impulsive’ choice. After that, it was just easier to think of the guy as the leader of the mission and nothing more. He’d take his orders and roll back into his place, no emotions involved here at all, no siree.

“Okay, look,” Sam sighed again, and did he not realize the air filtration system could only do so much? “I’d rather be shot into space than touch whatever issues you two are entangled in. But can ya’ll, like, tone it down a little?”

“Why don’t you tell the good Commander that?” Dean muttered. Because he’d made the first move. Unsuccessfully, but this lack of communication was not all his fault. Though really, he should’ve known better than to expect simplicity with Castiel. Man waffled between hot and cold like mercury in a thermometer.

“I did!” Sam exclaimed. “And believe it or not, I think you’re our best bet at this point.”

“Well, then you’re screwed,” Dean snorted. “Lemme guess, he said everything was ‘fine’ and started fiddling with the Nav?”

Sam paused at that. “Yeah . . . actually.”

He quirked his eyebrow at the kid, waiting for the supercomputer inside his head to go online. He wasn’t disappointed, and Sam’s expression cleared up as though he’d just made a major breakthrough. “Oh.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, flipping open the book and finding his place. “Good talk, little Freud.”

Appropriately cowed, Sam muttered something about dinner and slipped out of the room, oozing despair and embarrassment.

Dean restarted the last chapter. He couldn’t remember a word he’d read.

After the third time he slipped off the words, he snapped the book shut with a resigned sigh. Made his way into his pod, standing by the window trying to decide whether he wanted a shower or a nap. He’d made no move in either direction, watching the dim stars stare back at him, unmoving and constant. Somehow judgmental.

“Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo,” ASTERIA startled him. His head slipped off his hand, where it was precariously balanced on the desk.

“Copy,” Dean's voice broke off in a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I copy.”

“Report to map room in five minutes.”

“Okie-dokie,” he muttered to himself. Caught his reflection in the glass. He hadn’t even known his hair could go in _that_ direction. After a frustrating minute of trying to flatten the cowlick, he stared at himself in the little mirror embedded in the wall. A zombie cosplayer stared back.

See, this is why you don’t give your crew time before rendezvous . . . they start filling it up with meaningless shit that inevitably makes them late. Still, he had to admit he felt more human after a blink-and-you-miss-it shower and a round with the mouthwash.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, slipping into the map room, and slotting himself between Rowena and Sam in the loose circle.

“Thank you for deciding to join us,” Cas muttered mildly.

Dean grit his teeth, “You know what, Cas?”

“What?” the man looked back at him, jaw clenched. If he wanted a fight, he could find it elsewhere. Dean was done trying to decode Castiel.

“Sorry, Commander,” he shot back, smiling pleasantly. “Won’t happen again.”

Next to him, Sam cleared his throat and hopped from foot to foot. Dean was beginning to think the pee-pee dance was Sam-speak for ‘you’re making me uncomfortable with your unaddressed issues, please stop’.

Because he was an awesome big brother, he did just that, turning to the map table, “What’s the word?”

Cas seamlessly switched to professional detachment, tapping on the screen twice and zooming into a little green point adjacent to their ship. “Radar picked this up an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?” Sam piped. “And you’re just telling us now?”

Cas cocked an eyebrow at him, “I was trying to figure out what it was. Didn’t see the point in bothering everyone else when I could just do it on my own.”

“Yeah, I forgot this was a one-man show,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Bravo?”

“I was asking you what you know. About it,” he responded. With no small amount of satisfaction, he saw a little twitch in Cas’s eye.

“I actually learned a lot,” the man continued, zooming out. He leaned over the table, long, muscled arms reaching out to the input panel that was, incidentally, right by Dean’s hip. Punching in new info, he continued on, oblivious to Dean’s mounting irritation (wasn’t the only thing that was mounting), “It was a transporter unit. Apparently, they just made a drop off, a little ways away.”

The command panel flashed green and the screen shifted. Cas retreated, revealing the new map.

“Whoa!” Dean and Charlie whispered. The screen was . . .

“That’s . . .” Sam swallowed audibly, leaning over to get a closer look. “That’s a lot of ships.”

“Except they’re all part of one fleet,” Rowena broke in suddenly. The others turned to her questioningly.

“Exactly . . .” Cas trailed off. He narrowed his eyes at her, “How did you know?”

“I know a lot, Earthling. You’d know that if you sought aid, once or twice,” she chided casually. “This is Zeta-362. It’s a . . . ah, galaxy far, far awayꟷ if you will. I had the great displeasure of making the acquaintance of a member of that community . . . an assassin by the name of Ketch.”

“Assassin?” Sam’s eyebrows tried to become one with his hairline. “Like, a mercenary?”

“Yes, but he exclusively undertook missions to kill. Or fatally maim, in this case.”

“Uh . . .” Dean’s eyes shot to Charlie, who shrugged at him, looking equally lost.

“How did I survive? Well, all it took was a little magic and a very powerful orgasm,” she smirked. Dean winced, very, _very_ sorry that he’d asked. “I slipped away unnoticed and our crew escaped in the dead of the night with some rather delicate information about the organization.”

“Organization?” Cas demanded. “So it’s true? _They’re_ the traffickers?”

Rowena hummed. “That wee ship we blasted to oblivion? One of their failed pet projects. Taking out the trash, so to speak.”

“Wait,” Dean made a slicing motion in the air. He glanced at Cas, “So these people, they’ve been smuggling people from, like, everywhere to what . . . sell them as slaves?”

Cas pulled a face. Rowena answered for him, “And worse.” She tapped him on the arm, “If you ever need a source for that work of yours, Commander . . .”

Before anyone could fully process that, Sam barreled on, “And they’ve what, managed to take over their _entire_ galaxy? All those ships are their shipments, or whatever?”

“Aye, dearie. I always knew you were the brains of the operation,” she winked at him salaciously. “We never figured out how they did it . . . being so isolated from the rest of us. The logs we stole showed mission durations being short as an _hour_.”

“No way . . .” Dean breathed. “That’s like, scientifically impossible.”

“Och, Earthling,” she clucked her tongue. “Don’t you know better by now? Nothing’s impossible.” She glanced at Cas. “The files showed some missions to the Milky Way as well. Not many, mind you, which was quite wise. Humans are like dogs . . . had they caught wind, they’d have probed and probed until they exposed their existence. Humans do quite love probing, as I’m to understand.”

“Please stop saying that word,” Cas muttered faintly, arms braced on the table. Dean determinedly fixed his attention to the table and away from the swath of well-toned arms and snaking nerves.

“What ‘probe’?” Rowena was saying.

“Yes.”

She chimed, and Dean suppressed a wave of terror. “Aye, Commander.”

“Wait,” Charlie leaned over the table, zooming closer. She clucked her tongue in irritation, tapping the screen four times rapidly. Cas jumped back as the images shot out of the table.

“What the . . .?” Sam breathed.

Charlie stared at them in bafflement, “You did know this was a hologram, right?”

“I . . .”

“So little imagination, Samuel,” Rowena teased. “You need to work on that.”

“I . . .”

“Cool,” Cas muttered, eyes wide like a child in a candy shop. Then he shook his head, morphing back to the wet blanket they knew and loved. “Wait, _why_ did you do that?”

“Shut up and let me figure it out,” Charlie had turned back to the model. She scrolled, and the lines zipped and flashed at lightspeed, too fast for the humans to even register. She hummed. “That’s what I thought.” Eyes bright in triumph, she zoomed back, stopping the display at a seemingly random ship.

“See that?” she was talking to Cas. He nodded slowly. “That’s where your children are.”

“How . . . how do you know?” his eyes went wide, fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt.

“The ships are arranged in a very simplistic pattern. Anyone could decode it. It’s mere chronology . . . the first ship that leaves delivers the first container that docks. The next shipment docks onto the first one, the next on that, and so on and so forth. The day your children went missing? _This_ ,” she tapped an inconspicuous dot, “is the container that docked. And then no ships left for three months. If the technology is as advanced as Rowena claims, there is _no_ way a mission took that long.”

“Okay, but . . . how do you know the pattern?” He’d managed to pry a thread loose and was wrapping it around his finger, over and over.

“The ship models, of course,” Rowena supplied, talking slowly. “You don’t know . . .” she looked around at their blank faces. “Oh. Oh, dearies. How do you humans even _function_ with such limited knowledge?”

Dean scowled, but he didn’t protest, because . . . yeah.

“I mean, we’ve just recently started space exploration,” Sam mumbled.

“Oh please. Now you’ll say something like ‘practice makes perfect’ like a true virgin.”

No one quite knew what to say to that, but Sam did shuffle behind Dean at that. Kid was in way over his head. But Dean didn’t care about that. (Incorrect; he was starting to delight in it.) He watched Cas, who watched the hologram as if he’d found the Holy Grail.

“Charlie,” Cas ventured, eyes still locked onto the display. “Do you think you could give me the _exact_ coordinates of this container block? From the map?”

“Well . . . yeah,” Charlie squinted at him as though he’d asked a particularly dumb question.

Dean watched the stubborn set of Cas’s mouth, the spark of intent in his eyes. “Cas . . .” he started, carefully. “Even if that’s the target, it’s going to take us a while to get there. Years, at the least, even with our tech.”

Cas turned to him. “Not if we go into hyperdrive.”

Oh.

Oh, _hell_ no.

~~~

_It's time we had a break from it_  
_Send me to the rear_  
_Where the tides of madness swell_  
_And been sliding into Hell_


	4. Chapter 4

~ The War's Still Going On, Dear ~

**M32, Andromeda (NGC 224)**   
**12.22.2008 Earth + 3 Years, 6 Months, 27 days**

When the ship suddenly tilted sideways in the middle of an already precarious shave, his hand slipped. He saw the blood before his eyes, moving in movie-style slow motion before he felt anything.

“Shit!” he hissed. _This is how I die. Shaving accident. This is my legacy_.

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t floating because his spirit was ascending or some shit, but because they were in zero gravity. He dove downwards and gripped the edge of the sink, examining his throat in the mirror. Just a nick. A little deep, but nothing that’d kill him.

_Dodged a bullet there._

He wiped off the shaving cream, leaving half his throat darkened with stubble.

“Team, this is Delta. What the hell’s going on?” he groused, maneuvering himself to his pod’s entrance. The headset crackled like a walkie-talkie. The response came through overlaid with the same noise. “What? I can’t . . . there’s too much static on the line.”

The headset hummed again and Dean ripped it off with a wince, floating out into the hallway.

“Cas!” he immediately spotted the man, limbs tucked in close as he made his way to the mess. He turned sharply at Dean’s voice, breaking his momentum and just sort of floating about.

Ever since the whole debacle with Sam . . . Dean and Cas had become . . . complicated. Not that there even was a Dean-and-Cas. That was probably off the table. Unless Dean grew a pair and actually talked to Cas about it like a mature adult.

“Dea-Delta,” Cas said, reaching out and grabbing hold of his arm. “Foxtrot fucked up the course. Let’s go.”

He ignored Dean’s spluttering inquiries and tugged him into the mess. Sam was holding onto the arms of his seat, emo-boy bangs levitating off his face. Foxtrot was blocking the way to the control room, much to the chagrin of the rest of the assembled crew. They were shouting at her to move, but she seemed determined to do . . . whatever it was she was trying. Hijack?

Next to him, Cas let out a sharp whistle that made his eardrums protest. The crew fell silent, turning to face the leader. “Foxtrot, your passcode is on temporary suspension. Move out of the way and let Bravo do it.”

She glared at him, face tight, but she moved away, nonetheless. Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief and took her place.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded as the locks disengaged with a hiss and Gabe zipped inside, followed closely by Balthazar.

“Seriously,” Dean stared at her. “ _Seriously_?”

“Delta, quiet. Why do you _think_ , Anna? You set the course too close to the galaxy’s core!” Cas snapped incredulously.

“Wait,” Sam piped, voice still pretty weak. He still looked borderline malnourished, which was saying a lot, because the kid used to be packed with muscles Dean couldn’t even _name_. “Isn’t there a . . . like black hole at the core?”

“A supermassive black hole, even?” Dean snarked, watching Anna. The girl scowled.

“You don’t need to mansplain shit to me, ass-kisser.”

“Hey!”

“Quiet, you two,” Cas snapped. “Anna, did you just not _know_ the coordinates to the Time Barrier?”

She glared at him, pointedly reciting the coordinates. Flawlessly.

“Then how the fuck did you manage to get us trapped in the SBH’s magnetic field?” he gritted, voice low and dangerous.

“I took a risk, okay?” she exclaimed, throwing out the hand she wasn’t using to tether herself. “We have a deadline to return by! And this was the only route that got us home by then.”

“That’s not your job! Or your call to make. Especially without consulting the crew!” Sam exclaimed. “You know you could get kicked out for this, right? They’d blacklist your profile so fast you won’t even be able to say, ‘oops’.”

“This is all your fault anyway,” she snapped churlishly.

“ _My_ fault?” Sam gaped. He looked at Dean with an expression that clearly asked, ‘you hearing this?’ Dean was.

Then he felt a hand fist in the back of his shirt and pull him back from where he was launching towards Anna. Cas gave him a stern look.

“If it hadn’t been for the sickening codependency you and Dean have, we’d be on schedule by now!”

“But that was my call, not theirs,” Cas frowned at her.

She looked at him. Then she growled lowly, “Please. Like you’re the one calling the shots anymore. You’re too stupid in love to realize Dean has you wrapped around his pinkie.”

Before any follow ups, the ship tilted again, and everyone slammed downwards, landing on the ground.

Dean groaned, looking up to see Sam’s smug expression as he sat in his chair, completely unruffled.

“Echo, Bravo, are we back on course?” Cas called out.

“Yes,” Balthazar called back, and Gabriel chimed, “Right on!”

Which was dumb, because no one had said that in decade, but Gabe wasn’t particularly bright either.

“Great. Get Foxtrot into the brig.”

Dean’s head shot to Cas. Because that was a little . . . extreme. Everyone else apparently thought so too, but no one was feeling particularly sympathetic towards Anna in that moment. Still, no one protested when she gasped, “No! You can’t do that!”

“No, see, I know my place perfectly,” Cas shot back with a grim smile. “And I know what I can and can’t do, as commander.”

“Please,” she whispered, losing all her fight. “Cas, please. It’s my first mission . . . they’ll fire me!”

“Hey, at least that’s an opportunity to redo training,” Cas shrugged, storming over to her. “So you can learn basic shit like working with a crew and the value of human life. Clearly, you skipped some classes.”

And okay, yeah . . . Dean shifted uncomfortably, because training also talked about not going back once launched from a target site, but here Sam was. Awash in guilt he saw reflected back from Sam’s face, he called, “Cas, wait. Maybe we can take a vote.”

Cas looked back at him, cocking an eyebrow. He shrugged in acquiescence, casually stepping away from Anna’s trembling form. She didn’t even try to cover up her relief as she melted against the wall.

“Um . . . okay,” he started, realizing Cas wasn’t going to. “Who says we throw her in the brig?”

Cas nonchalantly raised his hand, shrugging at Dean. He was the only one.

“How about,” Sam picked up the train. “How about, a week on suspended access?”

Four hands shot up. Having to ask to use the toilet was pretty demeaning, even for a day.

“I mean,” Balthazar nudged her. “You could say you were grounded in space.”

Everyone groaned, even though Dean personally felt like that was pretty clever.

Of course, he realized how naïve they’d been a few days later.

They couldn’t necessarily lie about going back, but none of them from Alpha to Echo had rehearsed their story. With too many conflicting versions, HQ had gone to Cas. Cas had told them the crew was protecting him. That he’d made the choice to return to retrieve Sam, all on his own.

Three months later, Dean stood outside the hospital as they brought Sammy out, looking much better than he had since landing. The color was back in his cheeks and he looked like he had at least three meals a day. His hair had been neatly cleaned up so he didn’t just look like a beefier version of Harry Potter in Goblet of Fire.

Bounding up and into the car, Sam had turned to him with a blinding smile, “So . . . where’s Cas?”

 _Probably visiting his dead wife’s grave,_ he’d wanted to snap _. Picking up his half-orphaned kids from school._

“I don’t know,” he’d murmured.

“Uh . . . what?”

“I don’t know, his wife died while we were away,” Dean mumbled, refusing to look at Sam as he twisted the ignition. Baby roared to life, and Dean flicked on the radio to fill the stunned silence.

“Cas wasꟷ Cas was married. Cas had a _wife_?” Sensing the kid building up to a question, he reached over and tweaked the dial, turning up the volume.

They drove home without exchanging another word.

~~~

_And my armor is destroyed_  
_I have used up all my weapons_  
_And I’m helpless and bereaved_  
_Wounds are all I’m made of_

_Did I hear you say that this is victory?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it got confusing:-  
> Alpha – Cas, Bravo – Gabriel, Charlie – Sam, Delta – Dean, Echo – Balthazar, Foxtrot – Anna.
> 
> I ordered them in order of decreasing experience for the flashback mission.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 3  
_Barreling Towards Certain Death_  
— A memoir by Dean Winchester

**Magnetic Boundary, CR7**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months 3 Days**

“ _Hyperdrive_?” multipleꟷ if not allꟷ passengers aboard exclaimed.

“Sam, take Charlie and go set the Nav to Zeta-362 while Dean sets the boosters,” Cas barreled on.

“What? No, that’s _literally_ impossible, Cas!” Sam flailed dramatically. “The boosters will explode at that setting.”

“Yes, well, this isn’t a democracy. Go set the Nav and Deanꟷ prep,” Cas responded coolly. Dean was reeling hard enough that the entendre didn’t (in)appropriately register.

Because that there was some primo crazy talk. Commander Cas was officially crazy talking.

“Dude, we’ll become mush!” Sam added. He turned to Dean, “You know what happened to the last humans who went into hyperdrive?”

“Mush!” Charlie supplied helpfully.

He gestured at her in gratitude. “Thank you!”

“We’ll only turn to ‘mush’ if your brother fucks up the prep,” Cas declared stubbornly, setting his jaw.

Dean gaped as Sam looked momentarily panicked. Then he set his jaw, clearly preparing to launch into a conscientious Lawboy Lecture (trademark pending). Dean had a feeling the Commander was beyond reason in that moment, however.

“Cas, can I have a word? Privately?” he hissed. Cas wavered, but the crew took the choice out of his hands by shuffling out in various shades of awkward.

“You know what?” Cas didn’t let him get a word in. He threw his arms up, turning to face Dean head on. “You _owe_ me this. I didn’t want to pull that card, but you’re making it _really_ hard to be gracious about this.”

Dean stared at him. _That’s_ how Cas wanted to play this? He let out a bark of laughter, “Owe you?!”

“Yes,” Cas straightened up, fists clenching.

“For _what_? Coming on this mission? To save _your_ kids?”

“For Sam.”

Dean stared at the man in utter disbelief. “I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time getting this.” He stepped up and poked Cas in the chest. Hard. (Oh, nostalgia.) “Because it sounds an awful lot like you think I owe you for rescuing Sam. A member of your crew, who you swore to protect.”

Cas scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m glad you’ve rationalized your blatant disregard for rules and respect since.”

One of these days, he was going to deck the guy. He took another step, till they were nose-to-nose. “So . . . I owe _you_ , for asking you to, what? Act like a human being? Is that the delusion you’ve been harboring?”

“You’re one to talk about harboring delusions.” It was like he was actively trying to piss Dean off.

Dean _knew_ he hadn’t been alone in whatever he had been feeling. Emphasis on the past tense. Because in that moment, he couldn’t imagine even liking the smug, dictatorial bastard. (Let alone _liking_ him.)

If anything, every interaction (or lack thereof) since the kiss had confirmed his worst suspicions. That Dean had been the one actually feeling any emotional pull towards Castiel. For Cas, this was plain lust. Or worse, a way to bide time till he returned to his lovely little family.

And honestly, it had been so, so foolish of him.

 _Of_ _course_ Castiel didn’t care for him. _Of course_ Cas didn’t actually _want_ him. He had everything a man could ever need already.

(Maybe he’d just been humoring Dean out of some fucked up sense of decency.)

Hanging on to his control by a thread, Dean reached forward and grabbed him by the collar, as though in warning. Which, in hindsight, he knew didn’t necessarily faze Cas in any way, shape or form. In fact, there was an odd spark in his eyes as he retaliated with a hard shove. Dean stumbled backwards, stubbornly hanging on and taking Cas with him.

“You’re a dick,” he said, finally. “You’re a heartless, soulless son of a bitch.” He didn’t let Cas get another word in edgewise, because he was done bearing the brunt of Cas’s misdirected anger. He was done talking about this, because clearly talking was just making things worse. “You know what? I’ll go prep the system for hyperdrive.”

Commander Cas took pause, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“I hope you’re happy. Now that you don’t have to pretend you possess basic human decency,” Dean shot over his shoulder as he made to leave. But, oh Castiel. Castiel had to get the last word in.

“I can’t be human, Dean!” he exclaimed. “We’re floating about in zero gravity, surrounded by planetary debris! I’m either clear-headed or human. You know which gets the crew killed?”

“Yeah, whatever the fuck you are,” Dean grunted without turning to face him. “Because you’re right. You sure as shit ain’t human, Castiel."

He was realizing Cas didn’t care for people beyond him and his. Dean and Sam didn’t register on that radar, despite what he used to believe. Suddenly hit by the breakthrough, he choked out, "You would’ve done the _exact_ same thing if it was someone you gave a shit about. Heck, that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. What _we’re_ doing for you right now.”

The truth seemed to hit Cas just as hard as it had Dean. “I’m trying to keep those I have left safe,” he hissed. An insistent arm wrapped around Dean’s, forcefully spinning him around.

Dean found himself rattled by the redness around his eyes. “If you hadn’t _coerced_ me into going back for Sam, I would have made it back, Dean!” he shouted. “I would’ve been there at her funeral. I could’ve held her hand when cancer took her last breath away. I could’ve been there for my kids so they didn’t have to bury their mother alone. So you don’t,” he stepped away, “get to take the high road here.”

Tired and silent, Dean watched his eyelids drop shut, fine black lashes clumped with tears fanned out against his cheekbones. He nodded to himself, pulling together. “I’ll let the others know.” He backed away, looking at anything but Cas. “You . . . get your shit together.”

He made his way to the engines. 

He was just recalibrating the boosters when Sam slipped into the control room. “I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbled quietly.

Behind him, the kid exhaled in annoyance. “Fine. I won’t say what I was going to. But only because you sort of hold our lives in your hand right now.”

“Jeez, Sam,” he swore, barely managing to not type ‘48333’ instead of ‘483’. “No pressure, huh.”

“Oh no. All the pressure. Speaking of, please tell me you’re rounding down and not up.”

“Rounding down, bitch,” Dean echoed half-heartedly. His hand trembled as he hit enter. “ASTERIA, turn on the boosters in 240 minutes.”

“Okay,” the AI chirped.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Sam added.

“Sam, I swear, if you pitch a fit right now, I will end you.” He slapped the kid on the back, zipping over to where he’d folded in half, arms braced on his knees. “Come on, walk it off.”

“You had one job, Dean!”

“And now I have another job,” Dean shrugged easily. If he was going to die within the next few hours, he wasn’t going to waste time obsessing over it. Over anything that didn’t deserve it, really. “Come on, we should set up some sort of containment barrier. Think your girlfriend has something up her sleeves, Chewie?”

He knocked shoulders with his brother and strolled out of the control room. Stared at the sterile white walls and wished for some color. Like a lively yellow or the resplendent red back at Bobby’s.

He physically steered himself away from that line of thought and made his way to the mess. Charlie and Rowena were sitting at the table, engaged in a super-weird game of chess (telekinesis and tentacle-y plants notwithstanding). Cas was by the kitchen unit, messing around with a pouch from the beverage cabinet. It all seemed so normal. As if at least three-fifths of these people weren’t about to barrel towards certain death.

At 29k miles per hour.

Dean firmly oriented himself towards the ladies.

“How long?” Rowena demanded, sounding bored out of her mind.

“Eh,” Dean hummed. “230 minutes. Give or take. ASTERIA?”

“Close enough, Bravo. Two hundred and thirty-two minutes,” she chimed. Rowena clucked, daintily nudging Charlie’s Bishop off the board with a pawn. Sam came into the mess on the tail ends of Charlie’s retaliatory protests.

Dean glanced at Cas sideways . . . and the man’s eyebrows shot up in realization. The straw sprang free with a pop and Dean fumbled to catch hold of himself. The vestiges of emotion tried to pry their way back in. He pushed them away.

“Sam, can we talk?” Cas stepped forward, cool as a cucumber.

Sam’s jaw ticked, eyes darting from him to Dean. He nodded jerkily. “Yeah, come on.”

“Don’t mind us, dearies,” Rowena trilled while Charlie hummed, “Awkward . . . huh?”

Dean felt a bubble of hysteria rise in his throat. “Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“You know,” the older lady mused. “You two should bang, while you still have time.”

He goggled at her. “Me and her?” he pointed at Charlie, who looked equally alarmed.

“Don’t be daft, boyo,” Rowena tutted at him. “You and the dear Commander, of course.”

He felt his face heat up. He soldiered on, rolling his eyes, “And we should all be setting up a containment barrier in the control room. Just in case. But I don’t see you moving your ass.”

“Och, please. Like I want your fleshy insides in these gorgeous locks,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder. Dean paused. They were pretty bouncy, yeah.

Wait. “Yeahꟷ _no_. No,” he shook his head, glaring at her and wondering if she’d bewitched them again. The way Charlie was shaking her head clear seemed to suggest so. “You’ll have much bigger worries if we explode and the barrier’s not up!”

Charlie hummed, nodding in agreement. “Human viscera gets _everywhere_. We’d be scraping out chunks of meat from the consoles for _months_ to come. _Months_.”

Deciding not to follow up as to _how_ exactly Charlie knew that, he cocked an eyebrow at Rowena.

“Ugh, fine. But then you should bed that,” she paused, as though rooting around in her mental lexicon for the proper human word, “delicious sausage.”

If his libido was ever interested, it immediately shriveled into a ball and died.

“No, I think the word you seek is . . . stud-muffin,” Charlie intoned seriously.

“Please stop,” Dean pleaded, horrified. “Please stop trying to figure out Earth slang.”

“Fine,” Rowena shrugged. “But you two should, ahꟷ _bang_.”

“ _Bang_ ,” Charlie echoed.

“Just,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just come on and set a barrier.”

“So you can go _bang_? Why, of course, dear,” Rowena grinned, breezing past him towards the control room.

“I think she wants to watch,” Charlie whispered to him before following.

Dean rubbed his temples.

When ASTERIA announced that they had ten minutes to go, he was getting his ass handed to him by Rowena and her plants. (As if he needed further damage to his ego.)

All too happily, he jumped to his feet.

“Boosters will switch on in two minutes,” ASTERIA informed, almost subdued. Dean could relate. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Okay,” Cas responded in the brittle stillness. Then, “Crew, thank you for accompanying me for this mission,” he cleared his throat softly. Dean refused to open his eyes, determined to maintain his stand. “In case . . . well. None of you had to do this, and I need you to know how dearly I appreciate it.”

He itched to reach over the narrow aisle between them. He settled for chancing a quick glance sideways. Cas was shamelessly staring at him. He returned the gaze with a wry twist of his lips.

“See you in the next galaxy,” he said.

“Yeah,” Cas said softly, turning back to close his eyes and rest his head back into the headrest.

The engine whined.

It sounded like the world was dying. His skin burned, his bones ached. The ship screamed impossibly loud.

In the aftermath of what felt like being thrown into a blender set to puree, he felt the urge to check for blood trailing out of his ears. He shook his head clear, realizing the high-pitched whine wasn’t from the engine or the ship. His ears were ringing.

“We’re here,” a faint voice whispered in his ear.

He gulped. _Let’s never do that again._ But of course, they’d probably have to.

All he could manage were little jerks of his limbs and head to ensure everything was intact and working. He hadn’t left a disembodied pinkie in CR7.

It was still too dark for his human eyes, so he pressed his head back against the helmet, swallowing back his nausea. Behind him, he could hear the non-humans puttering around, powering down the barrier and giving the humans space. Sam was bent in half, his CommsBud dangling from on hand, helmet from the other. Almost reminiscent of hungover Sammy after his graduation party at Harvelle’s.

“Where is ‘here’?” he mumbled, tongue thick in his mouth.

“Cas?”

Nothing but silence.

“. . . Cas?”

Anxiety coursed through his veins like lifeblood. He shakily pushed off his feet and turned to the side.

He went cold.

“ _Cas_!”

~~~

~~~

**Docked on a random containment unit, Zeta-362**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months (~4 Days)**

Cas’s lips were blue.

His lips were blue.

His blood roared in his ears and his vision swam. He was standing next to the man in a heartbeat, his own voice echoing in his head. Distantly, he heard the hiss of locks and his vision cleared.

His head shot to the side with the sharp sting of pain.

“Dean!”

Dean shook the cobwebs off.

Cas’s lips were blue, skin pale, head tilted backwards and resting on the glass of the helmet, almost as though he was merely asleep.

The helmet.

“Get his helmet off,” he rasped, and shit. Was that what he sounded like? “There’s something wrong. Get it _off_.”

“What?” Sam was staring at him, hunched over in the process of lifting Cas off the seat. “No, Dean. We need to check him over.”

Yeah, thank you, Mr. Condescension. Dean remembered basic training.

“No, it’s . . . it’s his helmet, Sam. Get it off. _Get it off_!” his voice cracked painfully, hands palpating Cas’s terrifyingly still chest despite himself. He needed to get his finger on some skin. He needed to check for the pulse.

“Fuck,” Sam swore. _The helmet’s probably the only thing keeping him_ alive _, Dean_. He didn’t actually say it, but Dean heard it loud and clear.

His own fingers shook too much to properly twist the delicate knob. Sam swore again, shoving his hands out of the way. Swallowing, heart in his throat, he helplessly clutched Cas’s gloved hands, watching the knob twist. The helmet hissed at separation.

Cas remained painfully still.

Dean bent over, pulling his prone form closer, placing his ear to his mouth and listening to the absence of exhalation. Sam, looking pale, dropped Cas’s wrist.

“Okay, come on,” he called, voice hard. He pushed Dean away harshly, rearranging Cas flat on the ground. “Dean, count for me.”

“One,” he rasped. Sam pushed. “Two.” Sam pushed. He counted as Sam pushed, eyes locked on Cas’s face. What the hell had happened? “Thirty,” he called, jumping into action. Bent over, pinched his nose shut and pushed air into his lungs, willing them to take it. Once. Twice.

A rough hand shoved him back. “Again.”

“One,” he gasped. “Two. Three.” Cas wasn’t dead. That made no sense. Cas was okay. Any minute now, he’d-he’d sit up and look at them and snap at them for hovering. “Thirty.”

“Breathe!”

He did. Once. Twice.

Cas remained awfully still. He sobbed, calling out.

“Again!” Sam’s voice cracked. “Dean, go again!”

“Move, you lugs!”

A massive force sent him flying, crashing into the walls. His back screamed, equilibrium blown to hell. Gasping, he straightened up, turning back to where Cas had been.

He was still there. Rowena bent over him, Charlie standing sentry.

 _What are you doing?_ he tried to call.

Then they were moving away. Charlie bit her lip, eyes heavy with emotion. Rowena was sitting back on her haunches, mouth tight. But even from his current distance, he could see Cas’s chest steadily moving up and down.

“What?” Sam demanded when Dean couldn’t.

Rowena didn’t respond, snapping at Charlie in a language he didn’t understand. Then Charlie was lifting Cas’s limp form off the ground and turning away with a soft apology.

“Maybe,” Sam shifted from foot to foot. Dean’s eyes shot to his brother. “Could it just be that he’s taking a little while to get up? I mean, it could be fatigue . . . that’s always an issue.”

“It’s not fatigue,” Rowena responded from where she was bent over a microscope, taking a gander at Cas’s blood sample. When her tricks had failed, she’d turned to good ol’ observable biology. “I would’ve detected something as trivial as that.”

Dean laughed at that. There was nothing trivial about this situation.

Cas wasn’t waking up.

One of the brightest brains in existence couldn’t figure out why. The leader of the oldest species in the Local Group of galaxies had no idea where to start. And Sam and Dean couldn’t do anything. At all.

It had been three days Earth time.

And Cas wasn’t waking up.

Dean refused to sit by his bedside like a hapless spouse. The one thing he could do was get those kids back.

Like all sure things, he’d fucked it up. They’d landed several lightyears away from their desired location. The Nav had somehow reset during the hyperjump, as had most other systems. The boosters ended up spluttering to death, leaving them suspended with no control.

And no way to regain said control.

“Uh . . . you guys,” Sam had called from where he had been hunkered down by the window. After Charlie and Rowena had returned, claiming Cas was displaying all vital signs to indicate he was in perfect health. Except consciousness, that is. Dean had sent Sam in to double check.

“Okay . . . so we just head over to the right one. What’s the problem with that?” Dean had been saying, frowning down at the map table.

“You guys . . .”

“See, therein lies our issue,” Charlie had gestured at Rowena, who’d hopped off her seat and stridden forward. “Without the radar system, none of us could possibly locate _or_ navigate to the right container.”

“Oh . . .” Dean had whispered in dawning realization.

“You guys . . .”

“Exactly,” Rowena had nodded at him. “Unless you can fix the system with your engineering genius.”

He couldn’t and she damned well knew that.

“Guys!”

“Yes, Samuel, we know!” Rowena had rolled her eyes.

“We do?” Dean had been momentarily distracted from the flare of annoyance in his gut. “What do we know?” he’d joined Sam over by the window and frozen. “What-what the fuck is that?”

The space before them was . . . empty. Black. Impossibly bare. No stars, no containers, no nothing. “Is that . . . is that the air?”

“Don’t be daft, boyo,” Rowena had said. Charlie had expanded, “That’s residue. Stardust, you might say. It certainly explains why they were never discovered. The whole galaxy has been engulfed in this.”

“We’re blind,” Sam had voiced what Dean was starting to realize. “How’d this even happen?”

“If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say a satellite galaxy, or several, perished within the core’s magnetic field. And that’s how the debris remains suspended. It’s slowly moving inwards. It’s quite an adventure, trying to navigate it without the experience the natives possess.”

“If _I_ had to make a guess,” Dean had sighed, “I’d say it’s our shit luck.”

Then Charlie had offered to go out into the pitch black. Rowena had nodded in support. The brothers had refused. They didn’t have a tie-breaker.

They were trapped impossibly far away from home. Their systems were all down, save for ASTERIA, who kept stalling even as she tried to reboot the ship. By some miracle, the artificial gravity and the air filtration was working. Comms were working in a short-range capacity. Not like there was much point amending that in this galaxy.

The water filtration wasn’t. The idea of never rationing again was a distant dream.

Charlie had gone out.

And that left Dean, hunched over in the mess with Sam and Rowena, leg bouncing uncontrollably. Cas had been adamant about having Dean as his second. Even though Sam had _actually_ commanded before, even though he _knew_ Charlie would be joining their crew.

At the time, Dean had been humbled and touched. Now, he was stuck in command of his first ship in a new and unusual, definitely hostile galaxy. He was terrified.

“I implore you to rethink my proposal, Earthlings,” Rowena was saying. “Split the water amongst yourselves and I will concoct a brew you can administer to Castiel.”

He shoved to his feet, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He couldn’t make any more decisions.

He stumbled to Cas’s door. Fumbled his way inside and sank against the door, eyes fixed between his feet. The soft beeping was insistent, drowning out the sound of his breaths. He ended up counting them. The panic attack knocked him when he was already down. Desperate to find purchase in reality, he grabbed Cas’s hand between both of his, shuffling forward on his knees.

The warmth of skin against his own helped him pull in a deep lungful. Then another. And another.

Until he could finally whisper, “You have to wake up.” _Because I’m not telling your children they might lose their father too. I can’t be the one._

(Not when he’d almost taken Cas away from them already.)

He curled up on the floor, shoulder wedged against the bed. Decided to stay a while.

Dean awoke with a jolt, head knocking into the slab protruding from the wall beside the bed.

“Charlie,” he gasped. “What’s wrong?”

“Dean!” The signal was rife with static. “I’m under attack. I need some aid.”

A haze of disjointed panic followed him as he rushed to the airlock with fleeting instructions. Rowena was with Cas. Sam had been positioned in the control room. Dean snapped on his helmet and unlocked the door.

It was like sawdust densely packed in air, wafting in and out of every fissure it could get into.

Bracing himself, Dean stepped out.

He had no control. The gravitational pull was somehow even worse than zero, somehow too weak and too strong at the same time. He blindly travelled around the ship and to the container by feel alone. Just when he started to despair that he’d never find his way to Charlie, something tugged him sharply to the side.

He hissed at the strain to his ribs.

Then his feet were landing on solid ground. And staying put. There was a sucking sensation and the blackness fell away. Charlie was grasping onto his arms, wide-eyed but uninjured. He saw her lips move and then the words came through, lagging by a good two seconds.

“We need to go inside. Cover me.”

“Go inside?” he hissed even as he moved to comply, an Oziomei gun braced within his grip. She led the way through a long, dreary corridor with him almost running to catch up. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer.

Then, she whispered back, “Weapons. I have never seen anything like these. I tried to steal some away, butꟷ” there was staccato of sharp sounds and her head jolted back to glance over Dean’s shoulder. “That.”

Who the fuck were these guys?

And then, apparently throwing caution to the wind, Charlie grabbed him by the arm and effortlessly yanked him along, fast enough that he almost faceplanted at least a dozen times.

“Shit!” Dean gasped as they halted, almost as abruptly as they’d started. He bent over, trying to catch his breath. “No fair . . . I don’t have the stamina,” he slapped his chest to soothe it, “to keep up with you!”

“Or the strength,” she responded simply. And coming from her, it wasn’t even a jibe. Dean scowled anyway. Then his eyes adjusted to the weird lighting and he gasped.

Charlie had purposefully made her way into the giant armory, but he was rooted to the spot, gaping at the contents. He couldn’t even _begin_ to describe what they were. Some looked like guns. Designs ranged in similarity from rifles to super-soakers. There were blades and knives with wicked curves. There was a whole shelf of miscellaneous items that his fingers itched to fiddle with.

He wanted to take them apart, figure out what made ‘em tick. Learn to put ‘em back together.

“Let’s depart,” Charlie broke through, just as he’d been reaching out to trace the intricate, foreign engravings on a gun longer than his arm. He pouted a little bit at her and she laughed softly, reaching out to pat him on the head. “You are adorable, my friend. But we must leave.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled, face heating up.

At the doorway, Charlie secured his tether around her waist multiple times. They looked like the weirdest set of conjoined twins.

“No matter what,” she told him seriously, securing the rope attached to the crate of weapons across her shoulders. “If you feel yourself falling away, call out to me. These acquisitions are not nearly as precious a cargo as you.”

Dean hopped from foot to foot, promising he’d cling to her like a limpet if push came to shove. Satisfied, she dropped out into the stifling blackness. He followed wordlessly, before he could lose his nerve.

Of course, fate (that bitch) decided it was all too easy.

They’d almost made it back, according to Sam (who’d managed to fire up the radar), undetected by the bad guys when he heard, “Oh, hello! Out for a stroll, are we?”

He aimed the gun in the general direction of the voice. “Hey man,” he started. “Yeah, we got a little turned around. Heading back now.”

The voice was male and unmistakably British. Maybe even human, which was to their advantage. They had a Charlie. But then the Brit laughed unpleasantly. “Then why are you holding onto that gun like it’s a lifeline? And what are you,” his voice drifted closer and Dean recalibrated, “dear lady, doing with _our_ property?”

He could see them. The stranger could see them, somehow. Horror clogged his throat. Charlie didn’t make an effort to pick up the slack.

“How about you drop those toys and tell me what you know about this ship here? In a civilized manner.”

_Drop them? In open space?_

Charlie made a growling sound. The man tsked at her, “Now, now. Don’t make me shoot the human.”

Dean held back a flinch as the realization that there was at least one gun trained on him washed over. It felt like an itch under his skin. If the suit got compromised, he’d freeze to death in moments. But from what he’d been told, it would be agonizing.

Besides, he had a job to do.

“Fine,” Charlie said. “Just divert your weapons and I shall oblige.”

The man laughed again. It grated on Dean’s nerves.

_‘Drop’ the guns. Why not hand ‘em over?_

He took a shot in the dark. Literally.

For all his advantage, the Brit didn’t see it coming. He roared, either in agony or terror. Dean and Charlie didn’t stick around long enough to find out. She hauled him ahead with enough force that he was certain he’d be broken in half.

They stumbled into their ship blindly and without finesse. The locks engaged and the artificial gravity sucked the blackness onto the ground. It lay there, looking insubstantial and harmless.

~~~

**No longer docked on a random containment unit, Zeta-362**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months (~7 Days)**

The showers had been shut off to save water. Rowena had juiced a plant and given them a bowl of clear liquid that smelled like alcohol. (Then she’d immediately warned them not to drink it, like a spoilsport).

Whatever it was, it worked. Dean had soaked a washcloth, as she’d instructed (and offered to demonstrate, shudder), and run the cloth over his body. It was weird, like moisturizer but lighter and thinner. One dip lasted him a whole session, effectively clearing off grime and dust and oil. Another dip helped with the hair.

Still, he didn’t _feel_ clean, too used to the feel of water on his skin to reach that stage.

Feeling like he’d somehow failed something as basic as showering, he made his way to Cas’s room.

The door hissed open to Rowena jumping guiltily. She recovered quickly, nonchalantly slipping in before the open door of a cabinet. Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

“What are you doing?”

She shrugged, “I was bored.”

“Uh-huh,” his eyes flicked pointedly to where she was clearly hiding something behind her back.

“Thought I’d get to know the dear Commander a little better. Since you didn’t seem up for the job,” she continued airily.

Dean fixed her with a _look_. “Rowena,” he said.

“Yes, dearie?”

“What are you hiding?”

She held his gaze for a minute. Then she sighed, because they both knew she wasn’t nearly wide enough to hide anything but a potted plant behind herself. She brought her hands forward without prompting.

Dean frowned down at her cupped palms. “Uh . . . you’re stealing meds?”

Rowena the Junkie Witch. Sure, why not? Had a nice ring to it.

But she rolled her eyes and he could almost hear her ‘don’t be daft, boyo’. She was growing on him. He didn’t know how he felt about that. “Read the labels.”

Shrugging, he plucked a bottle and peered down at the label. Frowned. Squinted and pulled it closer. Gave up, “I . . . can’t.”

“Exactly,” she hummed. He quirked an eyebrow inquisitively. She made the low tutting sound. “These are not mine or Charlie’s, Bravo.”

Which didn’t make sense, still. By the looks of it, the three bottles were still pretty much full. They’d been in space for a while now. There’s no way anyone could’ve gotten ahold of them from anywhere except Oziome.

“Rowena . . .” he said slowly. “What are they?”

He watched the plunger smoothly push viscous liquid into Cas’s bloodstream. Rowena took a step back, shooting him a significant look.

_Potent. Addictive._

The heart monitor started emitting beeps faster. A finger twitched.

_Could’ve altered him on a cellular level. Irreparably._

Dark lashes fluttered. There was a deep inhale and a long, drawn-out exhale.

_Immune system was overburdened. Shut down under the stress of hyperdrive._

Cas made a soft sound. Almost anticlimactically, blue eyes blinked open.

 _He had to have known, dearie_.

“Had a nice nap, Commander?” Rowena drawled, moving up and out of the way.

“Cas,” he said coolly.

“Dean,” Cas rasped. He winced, moving to sit up. Dean found himself drawing closer, one hand reaching under to lift him to a seat against the pillows. “What . . .” his voice seemed to give out, lips moving wordlessly.

Woodenly, Dean pressed a pouch of water into his hands, flicking the safety off. Cas gave him a small smile, cracked lips curving around the straw.

He tried to tamp down on the overwhelming wave of emotion in his chest. Perfunctorily, he gave a status report, “We’re here. Charlie acquired some weapons for us, which is good. Considering we know for a fact that these guys are hostile.”

“What?” the straw popped out obscenely.

Dean tore his eyes away and they roved over the pill bottles on the nightstand-slab before settling on the blackened window. Rowena had made herself scarce. (Or turned invisible, if she could do that.) “We’re a few lightyears away from the target container, and currently untethered. There were . . . complications. Our systems are down, but gradually coming online.”

“Wait,” Cas tried again. “How long was I out?”

“Water is rationed right now, but Sam’s confident we can get it running in two days. ASTERIA might lag a little.”

“Dean.”

“Oh,” he moved to grab the pill bottles. “And I’m taking these with me.”

He made no move to leave. Just stood there, watching Castiel’s eyes go wide in alarm. His lips parted but nothing came out. Dean nodded to himself in an almost resigned manner, “Yeah, I thought so.” He sighed tiredly, backing towards the door. “What were you thinking?”

He didn’t actually want to know, so he turned to unlock the door.

“Let me explain,” Cas said.

 _No_ , he wanted to say. He didn’t. Didn’t move to return either.

The silence stretched on.

His head thumped dully as he dropped it against the door. He couldn’t make himself leave the room.

Fuck, he’d missed Cas so much. He’d been terrified. He’d been angry and guilty and hurt from rejection. And all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around the other man and never let go. He let the bottles drop to the ground. They clattered noisily as they rolled across the floor.

“Whatever Rowena gave fixed you up,” he told the door. “But if you fuck up again, there’s no magic cure. One-time deal only.”

“Okay,” Cas replied softly. The bedding rustled. “Will you come here, please?”

 _Make up your fucking mind_.

“Dean, please.” Cas’s legs were folded, hands resting on his knees. He looked at Dean with raw plea and apprehension.

Dean took a seat at the foot of the bed, stiff and tense. He curled a fist over fingers that twitched wantonly. Met Cas’s gaze.

“If I apologize,” he started, “will you deck me?”

“Given that you just woke up,” Dean replied, “that would be in bad taste.”

Like it was a signal he’d been waiting for, Cas slid forward gingerly and wrapped his hands around Dean’s. “Then I’m very, very sorry.”

He couldn’t help it. He snorted. “Where’d you get the drugs from, Cas?”

“That’sꟷ”

“Where?” he repeated.

The grimace was all the confirmation he needed. “The container we blew up. How long have you been skimming drugs from the traffickers?”

“I’m sorryꟷ”

“How. Long.”

He dropped his head, hair almost brushing Dean’s chin. He was close enough that he could smell the scent of the clinical shampoo they used, somehow still intact after three days of near-coma. “Meg.”

That’s all he said. The tiredness settled over him like a cloud and Dean dropped his head forward till it rested on top of Cas’s. It felt nice. “Did Jack and Claire know you’d been travelling?”

The head underneath his shifted from side to side.

He pulled the other man up against him, tucking him close. “Dammit, Cas.”

“I’m really sorry,” Cas repeated, voice wavering.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean mumbled softly, pulling away. The proximity gave him bad ideas. Suddenly, it seemed so simple. To just lean forward for a taste.

The door hissed and they jolted apart.

“Cas!” Sam enthused. “Rowena said you were awake!”

The man in question stared at him, eyebrows scrunched up mournfully. Then he turned to Sam with a sincere smile, “I am. Hi, Sam.”

Dean shifted out of the way as Sam attempted to choke the life right back outta Cas. “Your heart stopped beating, you fuckhead! Your lips were blue! We had no idea what had happened.”

“Iꟷ” the man paused, gaze straying back to Dean and catching. Dean couldn’t help but hold it. At some level, he almost felt dissociated, blankly watching while his brother’s head whipped between the two of them.

“Um . . .” Sam muttered. “I’m gonna be in the map room. With Charlie and Rowena. Yeah.” There was a shuffling noise. “Yeah, I’m gonna be in the map room, _with_ _Charlie_ _and_ _Rowena_.”

Yeah, real subtle, Sammy.

Cas canted his head to the side, “You . . . just got here.”

He remembered the blue shirt Cas had been wearing, back on Earth. How it had matched his eyes. The black sweatshirt he had on? Made them _stand out_. God, how were they so freaking blue?

“Nah, dude, I’ve been here,” Sam snorted. “Gonna take a gander at the offline systems,” the kid mumbled before he all but shoved Dean towards the bed to beat a hasty retreat.

Since he was already there, he sat back down at the foot of the bed. Cas slid forward, raising his knees and resting his arms on them. Dean’s fingers twitched again.

John had come back once. A while ago. Sam had been at school, Dean had come home for lunch. He’d turned a corner and come face-to-face with the father he’d never expected to see again. In the brief moment before he’d ducked back and out of sight, he’d caught the expression on the other man’s face. It hadn’t been paternal or warm. Not that he’d been expecting it to be.

Bobby, blocking John’s path into the house, hadn’t seen Dean. “Spit it out and git, Winchester,” he’d warned. “Because you ain’t taking my boys from me.”

He often thought about those words. ‘Spit it out and git.’ Very Bobby Singer. Pretty wise, though he’d never say it to the old man’s face.

Thing was, Dean was a pretty selfless guy. He was well aware of that. Don’t get him wrong, there were moments of unfiltered selfishness, especially when a good, flaky pie was involved. But overall, he knew he was pretty much the opposite of conceited. There wasn’t much he wanted for himself, and if he did, he rarely went out of his way to get it. Especially if there was a chance the process of acquisition might potentially harm someone.

Which was why Castiel had thrown him for a loop.

He’d set his eyes on the man, years ago‒ and been filled with a selfish and all-consuming want.

Which was his first clue that if he didn’t at least try, he’d hate himself for it. So he decided to do just that. This dance with Castiel had turned suddenly precarious, balance tipping more and more away from favor. Dean wanted out, one way or another. He needed a conclusion, so he could move on without the heavy burden of ‘what if’ hanging off his shoulders.

It was simple, in the end. Just a casual, “I’m in love with you,” while he traced a line down the side of Cas’s foot.

He was met with silence, until he looked up.

“Still?”

He huffed a soft laugh at that. “What do you mean ‘still’?”

Cas shrugged, suddenly looking that much smaller. “Pretty self-explanatory. After allꟷ” he waved his arm, “ _that_. Do you still . . . you know?”

_Never gonna say it back, is he?_

“Yeah,” he said easily. “Still.”

Apparently didn’t have a follow-up to that, so Dean continued, “I’m not asking for anything here. Just letting you know.”

A hand reached out and rested at the crook of his neck. It tugged, and Dean leaned ahead. He’d been expecting a hug. It wasn’t a hug.

It was brief and chaste. But it got the intent across, loud and clear. Like two pieces slotting together perfectly. Dean cupped Cas’s head to hold him in place, twisting to deepen the kiss. Cas’s lips parted in a gasp.

“I thought,” Cas pulled away, and Dean pushed him back in punishment. He went easily, falling onto the pillows with a comical ‘oof’. He didn’t seem to mind having Dean atop him, which suited _Dean_ all too well.

Cas pulled away again, head arching back as Dean decided that he’d ogled the line of that throat without acting for long enough. He scraped his teeth over the stubble and the sensitive flesh beneath, rolling his hips tentatively. He definitely felt _something_ respond in the affirmative. Fingers scrabbled down the front of his shirt, struggling with the buttons.

“Fuck,” Cas muttered, voice hitching.

He laughed softly, leaving his lips on Cas’s as he worked his shirt off. “Now you.” He didn’t wait, slipping his hands under to finally, _finally_ map Castiel’s body with his fingers. Fingers dragged up and down his spine languidly. He traced his mouth along and under a sharp jawline.

Cas moaned quietly.

He fell a little bit in love with that sound, drawing it out over and over again.

Their hips snapped together in tandem and they let out twin groans of pleasure. “I have a feeling you haven’t been coping well with the whole abstinence thing.”

“What,” Cas panted harshly as Dean swiped a hand down his front, stroking his hard length over his briefs. “What abstinence thing?”

“The abstinence thing that made me wait so damn long to do this, you dumbfuck,” he growled, slipping a hand inside and wrapping a firm hand around Cas, jerking him rapidly.

“Shit, _Dean_!” his voice rose into a breathy gasp, body arching up against Dean’s, eyes screwed up, head thrown back in ecstasy.

He was mesmerized by the waves of pleasure morphing Cas’s face. He watched raptly as the other man bit down on his lower lip, muffling his louder vocalizations into ragged whimpers. His head arched back impossibly far and he came with a relieved sob.

The sight propelled Dean’s own orgasm and he hastily fumbled off his boxers, spilling against golden skin. A trembling hand came up to trace over his features and he closed his eyes, relishing the gentle caress.

Well.

That wasn’t _quite_ how he’d expected everything to go. Couldn’t complain.

He’d admit he was in a _great_ mood as he skipped into the mess hall twenty minutes later. That’s why he didn’t take offense when Sam started screeching about the sanctity of his ears and mind.

He languorously retrieved two pouches of OJ and sipped on one, holding the other one reserved for Cas.

Not wanting his mellow harshed, he informed Sam, like the fair ruler he was, “If you don’t stop bitchfitting all over my afterglow, I will narrate to youꟷ in detailꟷ the exact flavor of Cas’s cock.”

Sam spluttered, horrified eyes bugging. Charlie looked unbothered, but she nodded as if in congratulations. Dean accepted them with grace, even dipping a little in her direction.

“Hm . . . do tell,” Rowena grinned, sharp teeth shining in the dim lights. “He did sound absolutely delectable . . . as I imagined.”

Dean just chuckled, taking another long drag of OJ.

“I agree with Sam,” Cas announced, slipping into the room, freshly cleaned hair pushed away from his forehead. Dean smiled at him, walking over, pressing the pouch into his hand, and dropping a kiss onto his cheekbone. In that order. Because he could do that now.

“Dean,” Cas complained softly, color rising in his cheeks. So fucking _cute_. Argh.

He leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Yes, Commander.” Cas shuddered against him. _So responsive._ He turned back to the crew, “Which reminds me, that’s off-limits now. So, no calling him Commander.” 

Cas whined softly, covering his face with his hands. “Dammit, Dean.”

“Excuse the fuck outta me,” Dean huffed, leaning back a little. “But we don’t need you popping a boner in the middle of a raid!”

Sam made the rubber ducky sound again, “I guess we’ll just stick to ‘Cas’, then.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas rubbed at his still-slightly-red face tiredly.

“As you wish, _Commander_ ,” Rowena dropped her voice a few octaves, shooting Cas a sultry look. Dean laughed shamelessly, unable to decide whose face looked better – Sam’s or Cas’s.

He’d say their luck had flipped.

Because the next time he tinkered around and rebooted the whole system, the lights came on at full power. And they brought water, spatial scanning and ASTERIA with them. No lags, no spasms.

He started the engines. Smiled down at the console when they purred and growled with life. “Welcome back, sweetheart.”

~~~

_There’s laughter where I used to see your tears_  
_It’s all done with mirrors, have no fears_  
_There’s nothing pure or sacred in our time_  
_The nights we spent together are no crime_


	6. Chapter 6

~ They couldn't know they weren't going far ~

**Rachel, NV**   
**03.18.2011**

“Dad!”

His head swiveled around as he blinked against the sudden brightness. He’d never quite gotten used to the transition back to real sunlight.

A flash of light hair.

He turned, just in time to catch two very fast teenagers as they launched at him.

  1. It was 2011.



Jack was thirteen. Claire . . . he’d missed her sixteenth birthday. He’d told her he’d be there. Meg had shaken her head at him over the kids’ shoulders, annoyed at the torrent of false promises.

“Claire, Jack,” he murmured, shutting his eyes tightly and taking his first free breath. “I love you guys, but I might be choking to death right now. Just FYI.”

Jack pulled back first, laughing, bright-eyed. His hair was shorter, almost cropped to his skull. Unable to deal with the loss of contact, he squeezed his daughter tightly with one arm and drew his son in with the other, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “I like the haircut,” he smiled. “Though I can’t imagine your mom was too happy about it.”

Claire went rigid. He frowned, pulling away, instantly concerned. “What?”

He watched the color drain out of Claire’s face, the tears rising in Jack’s eyes. He frantically searched the waiting area.

His heartbeat thudded in his ears, “What’s wrong?”

She died on a Thursday.

It seemed so mundane, so insignificant‒ the hospital’s report.

His crew support told him that Claire sat by her bedside, reading her favorite Neruda poem over and over, till she finally left. That Jack had been in class when his mother passed, because she’d insisted they don’t halt their normal routines.

She’d insisted about a lot of things, apparently. Called them ‘last wishes’. It had been a running joke, at least to her. The kids had protested.

They’d buried her in the cemetery attached to the orphanage he’d grown up in.

She’d said it was because he couldn’t come to her. So she went where he’d find her easily. She wanted to be close to him after. After.

He ran his fingers over the beautifully carved stone.

_Meg Masters_

His fingers bit into the edges of the letters, feeling the divots, tracing the shape.

He’d only been gone three years. Out of communication for two of them.

_‘I, on the deck, am startled by this dawn confronting.’_

“I thought she hated D. H. Lawrence,” he’d whispered, muffled as though he was underwater.

“She really got into it . . . at the hospital,” Jack had offered, hands rubbing heat back into his cold ones.

“Oh,” he whispered, staring at the sea of cerulean before him, till the words burned away from his eyelids.

It took him one day to tie up loose ends. Most of them.

But the thought of that last one made bile rise in his throat.

“We could stick around for the rest of the week,” Claire tried, leaning beside him on the countertop. “Make sure the packers don’t break anything. Claim that insurance if they do and try to cover it up.”

“Gabriel will take care of that,” he’d replied, feeling like he’d fallen down a well. He’d been feeling like that for a while. “Plus, I really don’t want to stick around for my boss to call another meeting.”

“You’re going to quit?” she’d quirked an eyebrow at him.

He’d paused, setting down a poorly wrapped mug. “Better than getting fired, isn’t it?”

“Fair enough,” she’d shrugged. “So . . . are any of your friends going to visit anytime soon? Before we leave?”

He’d picked up the mug, rewrapping it. “Gabriel.”

Claire had spent her birthday at the hospital.

“Gabriel is literally our uncle,” she’d chided. “What about the others? Maybe not Balthazar, because he’d probably try and hire a stripper for me. And definitely not Anna, that bitch. But what about the brothers? Sam and Dean? Be nice to see them in real time.”

“Sam and Dean,” he echoed faintly, the mug turning heavy in his grip all of a sudden.

“Uh, yeah,” she’d drawled. With forced lightness, she’d placed a hand on his arm, “Is this what dementia looks like? The brothers from your crew? Including that engineer you couldn’t stop gushing about?”

The mug had slipped from his fingers and he’d barely kept it intact. Wrapped it haphazardly and stuffed it into a box. “Can you pass me those plates, honey?”

There’d been a pregnant pause. He’d kept his gaze trained on the gleaming countertop. Then the cold plate was put into his hand. “Here you go, Dad.”

“Thanks,” he’d muttered mutely.

Upon unravelling, the mug fell apart into three pieces.

He’d gotten the call through his personal Wave-Linker. He’d accepted the offer, stealing away in the dead of the night with an excuse scribbled on a sticky note.

~~~

_I'm leaving soon_   
_The others are already there_   
_You wouldn't be interested in coming along_   
_Instead of staying here_


	7. Chapter 7

Part 4  
Castiel's Guide to Effective Parenting

**Undocked, Zeta-362**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months (~8 Days)**

He woke up of his own volition, for the first time in years (nightmares and pepperoni hallucinations aside). The clock indicated he had a good half hour to go before the alarm went off, so he turned to the source of warmth and burrowed closer.

His happy hum was accompanied by a noise of complaint against a cold nose being shoved against a spine. Dean kissed him in apology, hand cascading down Cas’s flank to lull him back to sleep.

“Cold,” Cas decided to engage verbally.

Dean smirked in the disintegrating darkness. “Good morning.”

“No.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, squeezing Cas hard, just to annoy him. He wasn’t disappointed; the man squawked. “Gotta wake up and lead the troops to battle, Commander.”

“Fuggoff.”

Grinning devilishly, he slipped a hand down the front of Cas’s trackpants. 

The responses implied he’d succeeded in his quest to be America’s Next Top Alarm Clock. They’d made it to breakfast a little late.

No one actually seemed to mind, but Sam kept up appearances as the resident little shit by complaining thoroughly. Dean rolled his eyes at Cas over toast and the man shook his head disapprovingly. Sam and Rowena did an admirable job one-upping each other at ‘who turns Castiel the reddest’. Dean declared it was a draw.

But it was Charlie who won first place. Whatever she’d said to Cas had to be overwhelmingly heartfelt and undoubtedly sappy. Because _Charlie_. But it made the other man turn into a live-action tomato. When she approached Dean with similar entreaties laterꟷ when they were clearing away dishesꟷ he’d had the exact same reaction.

Twenty minutes before their rendezvous, he’d breezed into the map room and paused.

Cas leaned over the table, pointedly watching the blinking green dots. Rowena was curled up in the cubby by the window. Her eyes looked red and her expression was cloudy.

He’d definitely interrupted something there. “Sorry,” he backtracked, eyes flitting between the two. “I’ll come back in a while.”

“That’s fine, Dean,” Rowena said. “We’re done talking.” She brushed past him and disappeared down the hallway. Rattled by the use of his actual name, he turned towards Cas with a question upon his lips.

But Cas shook his head slowly. He leveled a concerned look towards the doorway and then turned back to the map table.

 _None of my business._ But then there was a little voice which piped, ‘ _Is Rowena okay?’_

And _wow_. He’d grown up or something. Because _that_ was a sentiment which he’d never dreamt of possessing.

“That wasn’t flawlessly executed,” Charlie informed them as she walked into the room with Sam and Rowena in tow.

Dean rolled her eyes at her, “No shit.”

She rolled her eyes right back. “We must figure out our next step.” Before Dean could continue being a droll, she pointed a finger at him in warning, “Unless you contribute meaningfully to this thread of conversation, I will throw you across the room.”

He pouted.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, I figured we’re like, four hours away from the target. Right?” he directed that at Cas, who winced and shrugged with one shoulder.

“There’s something weird going on with the radar. For one, dots keep disappearing and reappearing randomly, even if the overall mapping is constant,” he explained. He got a little shifty after that. Then mumbles, “From what I hear, that’s normal.”

“From what you . . .” Sam frowned. His eyes flickered between Cas and Rowena as he trailed off.

Rowena sounded thoroughly bored as she pushed away from her perch. Like she’d been waiting for the plebs to catch up and now that they had, she just wanted to _get on with it, already_. “You cannot chart a course for this journey, yes?”

Cas sighed, “That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

“The size of what?” Charlie muttered at Dean. He waved a hand at her in the universal ‘tell ya later’ gesture. She pursed her lips grumpily.

“Well then. That begs the question‒ _do_ you trust me enough to lead you to your target, Castiel?”

It takes Dean a minute to catch up. Given that no one has taken up the baton, he asks, “Wait. You wanna _drive_?”

At which point Sam continues, delicately, “How do you . . . I mean, how would you even _know_ where you’re going?”

Charlie made a high-pitched sound but didn’t say anything. Dean glanced at her and she echoed his ‘tell ya later’ gesture at him. He snorted. _Turnabout’s fair play_.

“And here I thought you knew better,” Rowena tsked at Sam. “Don’t you know I’m proficient at whatever I attempt?”

Cas scowled a little, “So . . . you somehow _already_ know how to drive this ship?”

“Sam, very graciously, has just offered to teach me,” she shot back coolly. The wookiee in question did a little goldfish impression, then decided to hold his tongue.

Cas didn’t seem nearly as compliant when he sighed explosively, stalking to the exit.

Rowena called out, to his retreating back, “I estimate it’ll take me a couple of hours to master what took you Earthlings several years.” Her face was still stony, no trace of her usual mischievous smirk. Dean was feeling a sudden urge to do Sam’s pee-pee routine of social awkwardness. Then she continued, long after Cas had disappeared from view, “So, do with that what you will.”

He’d probably imagined her gaze lingering on himself. Probably.

Cas looked deceptively calm, curled up in bed with knitting needles and a ball of nauseating yellow yarn. Dean snorted, “Who the fuck are you trying to blind with _that_?”

He got an eye roll, but Cas didn’t rise to the bait beyond that. Cut right to the chase, instead, “Would _you_ trust Rowena to drive us in this atmospheric tar?”

Dean sighed, climbing up on the bed and crossing his feet. “You gonna tell me why you two are even more at each other’s throats than usual?”

Cas scowled down at the swath of fabric in his hands like it had personally offended him. Which was possible, given that Dean was definitely feeling mildly offended by it himself. “I . . . don’t know. I have a nagging feeling she’s hiding something from us.”

Dean snorted. Of course she was. If there was anything he did know about Rowena, it was that she hoarded secrets like toilet paper during an apocalypse. He reached out and tugged at the string leading up to the ball. Two stitch-thingies fell off a needle and Cas gasped, slapping his hand away with a dirty look. “Do you really have a choice, though? I mean, you could ask Charlie to haul the ship but I feel like that’ll be very, very slow.”

“That. And she’d probably die,” he narrowed his eyes at Dean.

“She’ll definitely die.” He reached out and tugged the string again.

“Dean!”

“This yarn makes me want to puke.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cas curled over his little project protectively. “Sam seems to . . . trust her.”

He snorts at that. ‘Trust’. Kid’s gooey eyed about her. “Well, she _did_ just give us two hours of free time without any danger of a cockblocking Chewbacca. That’s a lot of brownie points in my book.”

“Sure it is,” Cas’s long fingers flew over the stitches, turning and dropping and looping and pulling. And nope, this was not going to be a kink. “But I’m serious here.”

Dean drew in a breath as he pondered over that. _Did_ he trust Rowena? 

He recalled how she’d brought life back into Cas, twice and wholly unprompted. He recalled what Sam had said, about being rescued by someone like her. He recalled what Charlie had said about her being the last of her kind. 

There were dots there that were just starting to connect.

Cas continued, “I mean, I’m also drawing a blank when you ask for alternatives, butꟷ”

“Look, if nothing else, you gotta trust Charlie. She’s known Rowena way longer than any of us have,” he interrupted.

He recalled Rowena’s anecdote about escaping Zeta-362. She’d said she’d ‘escaped’. He had a feeling that coming back here wasn’t exactly on her bucket list.

“But what is she _doing_ here? With us? On _this_ mission?” Cas insisted.

Pursuing that train of thought would lead him to rethink his faith in Charlie and the Oziomei. That was something he couldn’t do. Besides, if they’d been planning a hostile takeover, they’d have shot the humans into space ages ago.

“What, you sensing a disturbance in the Force?” he demanded, playfully shuffling closer till he could straddle Cas’s lap, forcing him to lean back against the wall.

He grimaced up at him as he was forced to maneuver the poky points out of the way. Cool fingers slipped under his shirt and travelled up his torso. Apparently, Dean was just a scooch more alluring than wispy yarn. (An ego boost if he’d ever seen one.) “You know, Star Wars references are in bad taste. Given our predicament.”

“Are they?” Dean teased, lapping at the purpled bruises he’d left under his jaw. “I think they’re pretty much perfect.”

“Little on the nose, don’t you think?” Cas murmured, fingernails flicking over a sensitive nipple. Dean gasped.

They lost the thread of the conversation after that, making out like horny teenagers for a good twenty minutes. Dean pulled away, lips throbbing, “We should probably talk about all this.” Cas shut him up by pushing up his shirt and scraping his teeth over Dean’s left nipple, causing him to let loose a noise resembling a dying cat. “Yeah, okay, you make a valid point.”

They’re in the middle of wrestling for control, trying to distract each other by well-timed strokes and bites and kisses and at one notable point, a slap, when there’s a soft knock.

Cas groaned as he rolled off Dean and grabbed his discarded shirt, wrapping it around his waist like the world’s skimpiest towel. “Charlie. Do you need something?”

He couldn’t see her from where he lay on the bed, but he heard the sheepishness in her voice, “I apologize. I realize how essential intercourse is to human lovers, but it would be most strategic if you accompany me to discern how the acquired weapons operate.”

“Give us five minutes?” Dean called out.

“Ten,” Cas amended hastily. Dean shivered a little bit.

“What will you achieve in ten minutes?” she asked earnestly. And nope. He called over Cas’s spluttering, “I’ll tell you later. Run along now.”

She complied. Cas snapped the door shut and darted to the bed in one breath, pinning Dean down with strong limbs. Dean arched up, trying to get a taste of skin.

“Are you really gonna give her the play-by-play later?” Cas panted, popping his fingers into his mouth and then reaching under Dean. 

Dean gasped. “Probably not.” Two fingers pushed into him, curling up inside him and lighting him on fire.

“Can you get arrested for lying to alien royalty?” Cas murmured, pulling out to wet his fingers again. 

Dean moaned, trying to complain even as he expressed appreciation for the visual. “Just put your dick in my ass.”

“Patience, young grasshopper,” the jerk laughed, slipping two fingers back inside.

“I can and _will_ wreck you, Commander,” Dean warned dangerously. 

Cas shivered delightfully, then reached up to slap a palm across his mouth. “We’ll see about that,” he grinned against Dean’s outraged noises. 

Then he put his dick in Dean’s ass.

Dean choked, head digging into the pillow. He pressed down insistently, not allowing the other man a moment to recover. Rolled his hips without finesse or rhythm, but Cas seemed to enjoy it.

“You’re so tight,” he gasped, back trembling under Dean’s roving palms.

“Imma need you to stay in me forever,” Dean responded as the fingers against his mouth fell lax. He took them into his mouth, running his tongue over the salty calluses. Cas stared down at him, making pained little sounds.

It didn’t take him long to come spectacularly hard, rutting up against the divots of Cas’s stomach. His fingers raked down the other man’s back, holding on for dear life as he sped up. Each snap of his hips punched the breath out of Dean’s lungs, nudging his prostate, and driving both him and little Dean apeshit.

He shamelessly groped Cas as the other man spilled inside him, screaming into his lips. Then his breath punched out of him as Cas collapsed, boneless, on top of him. Complaining, he turned, dropping the other man onto the bed beside himself. Head resting on Cas’s heaving chest, he traced his fingers up and down the dip over his sternum.

“I think we fucked up your yarn monstrosity,” he muttered foggily.

“I’ll make you another one,” Cas slurred, in absurd reassurance. If he’d seriously been making that yellow eyesore for Dean, they were going to have _a_ _discussion_.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Dean warned, reaching into a wall cabinet to get the Kleenex. By the time he’d liberated one, he could hear soft snores. Asshole.

~~~

**Docked on target ship, Zeta-362**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months (~8 Days)**

“Hello, boys,” Rowena purred at them as soon as they entered the airlock. 

Next to him, Cas shook his head resolutely, diverting his attention to the lock and punching in his code. “ASTERIA, we’ll be back soon,” he called.

“Okay,” she replied solemnly. “Have a safe journey.”

Dean squinted at the ceiling. “Are you like, worried about us?”

“I do not worry, Bravo,” she snarked, almost dutifully. He pursed his lips doubtfully. “But I _am_ programmed for your convenience. It would be most convenient if you did not die in outer space.”

Cas huffed in amusement. “She’s definitely worried about us.”

“She’s not the only one,” Sam muttered darkly, coming over to help Dean with the straps of his suit. Dean returned the favor. “I’m pretty sure last night was my villain origin story.”

“Why, what happened last night?” Dean frowned. Sam scowled, blushing a vibrant red.

“Bitch,” Dean rolled his eyes, ambling over to where Charlie had her loot laid out on a tarp. “Hi.”

She shook her head at him, extending a little hollow square, “Thank you for ignoring my request last night. You realize an Oziomei would be thrown into a brig for the same?”

He shrugged, not even a little ashamed. “What’s this, your Highness?”

“Clench the handle three times, like a stress reliever ball,” Charlie responded. He frowned down at it, wrapping his fingers around the thicker edge and doing just that.

“Whoa,” Sam gasped behind him. Dean stared at the long, flat blade before him, breathing out, “ _Awesome_.”

“Is that a lightsaber?” Cas marveled, coming over to examine it. He reached out to touch the glowing blue light and Charlie’s hand snapped over his.

“Do not touch it with your bare hands,” she warned. “And, no. A lightsaber is an impractical, poorly balanced tube of light. This? This is a blade. Give it a whirl.”

Watching her in the faint blue glow, he stepped away into open space, and then twirled it over and over. It was perfect. He grinned at her in delight and she grinned back, “Now squeeze it four times before you hurt someone.”

He complied. “Charlie, you’re literally the awesomest person to ever awesome.”

“Yes. Imagine if you’d actually turned up to be trained in its usage,” she shook her head at him, passing around two more to Cas and Sam. Rowena declined. “And now, long range weapons . . .”

“There’s more?” Sam enthused, equally delighted.

In response, Charlie passed out two intricately decorated handguns, one to Dean and one to Sam. To Cas, she offered what looked like the equivalent of a short-barrel shotgun. He peered down at it, pouting adorably in concentration. Rowena accepted one too.

“Do you have another clip?” Dean asked, carefully tucking the gun into a holster and securing the whole thing at his waist.

“Another what?”

“Bullets? In case we run out?” Cas explained.

“Oh, please, these aren’t like those ancient shooters,” Rowena scoffed. “You could take out an army with one of these. Provided you had the skill set, of course.”

 _Awesome_.

Tethers secured, they stepped out of the safety of the ship.

“Make sure to heed any changes in direction, boys. There may be suspended particles you do not want to collide with,” Rowena called over the CommsBud.

“Copy, Echo,” Dean responded.

And they were off.

If he had to choose an appropriate analogy, he’d say he felt like a helium balloon in a room of cacti. One wrong move and he’d pop, but also, he was a weightless mass being tugged around by a super strong alien. Cas was gripping his palm hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t feel like alerting the others to the fact so he stayed quiet.

Every now and then, they’d slow down and then Charlie would push off some surface they couldn’t see, hauling them forward like a very codependent string of comets.

Dean’s ribs were threatening divorce.

“Castiel,” Rowena called. “Can you check this container for a serial code?”

“There’s a serial code?” Cas mumbled, even as he dropped Dean’s hand and dove blindly in search of said container. There was a few minutes of silence and then, “Okay, got it . . . uh, I can’t read it.”

“Just describe it to us,” Charlie commanded, voice tight with effort. Dean was both highly intimidated and very much in awe. Like a baby ant watching a bee haul a rock, or some other metaphor that made sense.

“Uh, there are . . . ” Cas paused. “Three upright bars very close together, and then like, a wave connecting them to three more bars, except that they’re slanted. And then like, two concentric circles and a triangle with wavy sides . . . oh wait, there’s more under this. Hold on . . .”

“That’s okay,” Charlie responded. She started talking in a low, guttural tone, voice curving and dropping. Rowena responded in kind. Then, “We are close. Perhaps a ship or three away.”

“Great,” Cas responded and Dean felt the tether tug upwards. Alarmed, he pulled it towards himself. Arms grabbed at his shoulders and a helmet clinked into his. He squinted at the dot of clarity in the storm of black. A solitary blue eye peered back at him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean responded. Then he reconsidered, “Actually, no. _Please_ mention it the next time you start floating off like the human helium balloon.”

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled absently.

“Let’s go, Earthlings,” Charlie called. Cas separated from him and the stifling black clouded his vision again. He shook his head involuntarily, eyes seeking light when he knew, logically, that there was none.

With five of them searching, even though only two of them were reliable interpreters, it was very easy to locate the container. Unguarded and not even remotely secured, to their surprise. Too easy, apparently.

“There’s two doors,” Charlie groaned. “The other is on the opposite end of the ship.”

Without missing a beat, Rowena instructed, “Earthlings, you three go in this way. The Queen and I shall take the other way.”

“Wait,” Cas called. “I don’t think separating is a great idea.”

“Why not? Two kids, two teams,” she said. “In case they aren’t together.”

Even Cas couldn’t argue with that logic.

Dean and Sam felt around for a handle, Cas guarding their backs. There was a little dip, and Dean pushed at it. There was a loud whir.

“The hell did you do?” Sam snapped, trying to pull them all away. Dean resisted, grabbing hold of someone’s waist and someone’s tether.

“Wait, Sam,” Cas called. Then they were blown back and away, what felt like a giant vacuum cleaner pointed at them. Dean grabbed onto the newly revealed edge of the doorway, hauling himself forward while carrying the weight of two grown ass men clinging to him like limpets. Jesus Christ, how did Charlie manage that?

He was pretty sure she was actually Thor. Lesbian Thor.

Shaking his head, screaming in effort, pulled. After an eternity, the wind disappeared. He fell forward with a gasp, knees hitting something hard. His torso screamed in pain. His head knocked into the helmet painfully. Consciousness was overrated anyway.

Something felt nice. And warm. His eyelids peeled open with difficulty, filling his vision with an unfamiliar, kind of gross ceiling. He mumbled about germs.

“ _Dean_?”

“I’m okay,” he declared muzzily. In three breaths, there were hands gripping his arms.

“It’s Cas,” the owner of the arms informed.

“Thank god,” he muttered with false bravado. “Because if Sam groped me like that, we’d be having _words_.”

“You’re gross,” Sam sniffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cas snorted.

“Cas . . .” he muttered. “Cas, where ‘m I?”

“We’re in Zeta-362, remember? On the ship where Claire and Jack are.” The thumb stroking along his cheekbone felt nice.

“Welcome back, jerk,” Sam grinned, standing over his prone form. The nice cloudy feeling evaporated, leaving only utter disdain for shitheads that moonlighted as little brothers.

Awareness slammed into him with the weight of a sledgehammer. Or Thor’s hammer. He frowned, trying to remember why he was thinking about Norse mythology. That was random. (Like that one Intro to Ancient Greece class Lawboy had taken during his first semester.)

“Bitch,” Dean scowled. “Go ‘way, you’re ruining the pretty view.” Ignoring the snarky responses, he made to sit up, only to halt as his stomach rolled. “Gonna throw up.”

“No, you’re not. Come on, get off the floor,” Cas snapped, not harshly, insistently tugging him off said floor.

“Don’t use your Mom voice on me,” Dean whined.

“Can you two _please_ flirt on your own time? We need to go,” Sam interrupted. Cas watched Dean carefully before the logic of that statement won out. He turned, slipping into the corridor, thankfully blessed with artificial gravity close enough to Earth’s. 

The downside was that it was lined with bars, leading to little dirty cells. The upside was that most of them were empty. The caveat, though . . .

“What if they’re gone? What if they were in one of these cells and now, they’re rotting awayꟷ” Cas swallowed, after about three turns at the ends of three fruitless corridors. “And now, they’re gone?”

Dean sent Sam forward to scout. Occasionally, Sam had called back something like, “Nevermind, not human!” or “Redhead!”

“Hey,” he hushed, cupping Cas’s face between his palms. “There’s still a few blocks to search, okay? But we gotta keep moving. Don’t lose your nerve right now.”

“Dean,” a hand came up to clutch at his chest, fisting into his shirt.

He bit his lip. “We have to keep moving, Cas.”

“ _Dad_?”

They spun around so fast, it was a wonder they didn’t get motion sick.

“ _Claire_!” Cas shouted. Before Dean could blink, the man was out of his arms and crossing the distance to the bars. Dean waved Sam over. He could see Cas’s fingers shaking as they tried to hack into the digital lock.

“ _Fuck_!” he hissed. The lock flashed red again, as though mocking them.

“Cas, let me,” Sam gently shouldered him to the side. Claire extended a pale hand through the bars and Cas gripped it tight enough that Dean saw her skin turn whiter.

“Hey, honey,” his voice was uneven. Dean hung back, turning to give them some semblance of privacy while also catering to his paranoia.

“Hi,” Claire whispered creakily through tearless sobs. She looked fine, all things considered. Her long blonde hair had been hacked short. It was rough and choppy, and Dean guessed it had been done with a knife. Grime covered her skin and there were scrapes running up and down her arm, new and old. She was wearing a ratty Metallica tee Dean remembered owning at one point. So that’s where it went. “Hey, Hasselhoff.”

“Miley,” Dean grinned.

The lock flashed red again. Sam cursed under his breath, stumbling as Cas firmly shoved him aside. Apparently, Cas was at the end of his rope. He punched the lock.

Dean jumped in alarm, eyes sweeping around.

“Cas!” Sam hissed. “Someone’s going to hear us.”

You know how moms pull overturned cars off their babies? Yeah, Cas was tapping into his Mommy strength. He hit it again, once, twice, three times. The poor mechanism gave up the ghost, dying with a pitiful hiss. The locks disengaged. Cas ripped the door open, hauling Claire out and into his arms.

“Claire,” his voice was muffled. “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay.” He pulled away abruptly, sniffling, voice thick with tears, “Wait, _are_ you okay?”

He held her out and gave her a once over, running his hands over her scalp despite her protests. Claire stopped his ministrations by throwing her arms around his waist, “Shut up and hug me, you dork.” The rest of her complaint was muffled, “You have to listen to me, I was a prisoner for like, forever.”

Cas let out a watery laugh. “You can have ice-cream for breakfast.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, turning to Sam so he wouldn’t burst into ugly tears. Bad life choice, because Sammy had no self-respect. He was looking back at Dean with a gooey expression on his face. Dean soldiered on, rolling his eyes.

“Guys, we gotta go,” he interrupted, though he was loath to.

“Boys?”

Dean blinked Charlie’s voice over the CommsBud. “Go for Bravo.”

“Dean, we found Jack.”

He saw the remaining stiffness in Cas’s frame literally melt away. Claire started crying anew, pretending to scratch her nose to hide it. “I’m sorry. I tried to keep him with meꟷ” He saw Cas’s arm tighten around her shoulders as he hushed her.

“Is he okay?” he demanded.

“Not a hair out of place, dearie,” it was Rowena who responded.

“Okay, get back to the exit. Will you be okay?”

“Of course. You should be careful . . . we found some guards at our end. The guns work, but if you feel particularly paranoid, behead them.”

Dean nodded in approval. Sounded satisfying enough.

They turned to leave, but Claire stopped them. “Wait, there’s someone else.”

Dean frowned. Last he checked . . . there were only two. Unless he _had_ been concussed after all.

“What?” Cas asked.

Okay, not concussed then.

“There’sꟷ there’s someone . . .” she trailed off, wide eyed. “It’s easier to just show you.” She turned around and called, “ _Marco_!”

They waited. After a few beats, there was a faint whisper, “ _Polo_.”

Literally swaying in relief, Claire started down the hall, insistently tugging her father along like a kid in a grocery store. Contextually appropriate or no, it was adorable. “ _Marco_!”

“ _Polo_!”

It came from another cell, only a few feet away. Inside the cell sat a girl, or someone who looked remarkably similar. Long, black curls fanned around her face and deep shadows under her eyes like Claire’s.

“Kaia,” Claire said. “Eat crow. Told you my dad was coming!”

Kaia, for her part, was staring at the three of them, wide eyed. “Am I hallucinating right now?”

“Nope,” Sam took a step forward, smiling softly. “Hi, I’m Sam. This is my brother Dean, and that’s Cas.”

Cas met Dean’s eyes over his daughter’s head. Then he said softly, “Claire . . .”

He didn’t say more, but she turned wet, beseeching eyes at them. “No, guys, please. Please.”

They didn’t have the capacity. Had their crew been the original four . . .

But if they doubled that capacity, the ship would tailspin in hyperdrive. Having six on the return journey would’ve been pushing it. Seven would be tempting fate. Eight? Guaranteed suicide.

“Claire,” Kaia called, before Dean could prattle off the stats. She stumbled over to the bars, one trembling hand reaching out. Claire extended her own, catching it in hers. “It’s okay. You need to leave before they come back, okay?”

“Not without you,” Claire bit out. “If we don’t take her, I’m staying.”

“Claire,” Cas admonished gently. But Dean could see the agony in his eyes.

“Claire, it’s okay,” Kaia smiled at them all. “I . . . you need to go. You still have family back on Earth. There’s no one who’s going to miss me anymore.”

_Dammit kid, just rip my heart out and stomp on it, why don’t you?_

“ _I’ll_ miss you,” Claire exclaimed, tears spilling over.

Dean turned away, looking at Sam awkwardly as they tried to give them some space without straying too far.

“Dad, please,” Claire was openly sobbing. “I can’tꟷ I can’t leave her.”

“Yes, you can,” it was Kaia who responded, voice stronger than it had been before. “I need you to be okay, alright? You’ve kept me sane all this time. And if you get hurt because of me, I don’t know how I’ll stay that way.”

Oh, _come on_. Shit, there was literally no way he was separating these kids. Sam caught his gaze. They were both of the same mind.

If one of them stayed back, they could get Kaia home. Dean had already made up his mind. He turned back, just in time to see Cas break the lock.

They had the same idea then. Good. Saved Sam a Lawboy Lecture (trademark pending).

“Thank you,” Claire gasped, grabbing Kaia into a desperate kiss. Dean turned away again, clearing his throat.

“Let’s go,” Cas said. He turned to the brothers, “All of you.” They both opened their mouths to respond, but he spoke over them, “Nope. No one’s staying behind. We’ll figure it out on the way. Maybe we just don’t go into hyperdrive again.”

Which would mean . . . years of travel. Decades, possibly.

“I don’t care. As long as all of us are together,” he continued firmly, reaching out and wrapping a hand around Dean’s arm. Couldn’t argue with that sentiment. They started heading back, Sam bringing up the rear.

They made it back to the doorway without incident, and Dean was starting to get that itch under his collar that came with the unease of things being too easy. The itch was right.

“Oh, hello there.” Dean felt a chill seep into his bones. He _knew_ that voice. “Where do you think you’re taking those?”

So fucking close.

~~~

**Stuck between a rock and a hard place, aka the target ship, Zeta-362**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months (~8 Days)**

All things considered, it was good to have a face to connect with that smarmy voice. That was the only silver lining in sight. That, and all their heavy hitters were still scarce. So far, their captors didn’t seem to be cognizant of their cavalry.

“Castiel, right?” the Brit smirked. As if to complete the slimy villain ensemble, he had raised scars spider-webbing from the corner of his mouth. They ticked grotesquely as he flashed them an oily grin. “I take it you received our message. Sorry if it seemed a little . . . dramatic.”

“Arthur Ketch,” Sam said suddenly. “You’re him.”

Arthur Ketch canted his head, narrowing his eyes at him. “I don’t know you. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister . . . ?”

“Can’t say the same,” Sam flashed a sharp smile, putting those extra braincells to good use.

“You’re outnumbered hereꟷ Ketch, was it?” Cas did his power-eyebrow thing, with a seemingly casual shuffle. “Save us the trouble of demonstrating that.”

“Easy there, friend,” Ketch laughed. “My boss just fancies a chat. What with your recent . . . dealings, I’d say that’s perfectly fair.” The skimming drugs thing? The exposé? Yeah, he’d bet his ass the ‘chat’ was going to involve a lot of physical exertion.

“Would that be Commander Hess?” Cas responded with a disarming smile. Sam winced. Ketch’s expression darkened. “Or Professor Kendricks? Or perhapsꟷ”

“Sorry, got a plane to catch. Rain check?” Dean interrupted, fist gripping the blade at his back, still deactivated.

Ketch’s eyes snapped between them, until he landed on Dean, “You.”

So he remembered. Well, shit.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam grit out tensely. Dean shot him a look, turning back to Ketch.

Menacing growls surrounded them. Cas inhaled sharply, reaching out to grip Dean’s arm with his free one. His other one tightened around Claire. Dean didn’t know what the source was, he couldn’t see shit. But Cas evidently did. That, and he clearly thought they were in trouble.

“Ketch,” he bit out slowly. “What happened to civility?”

“That ship sailed when your crew member here shot me.” The Brit snapped his fingers and suddenly, there was a circle of red beams surrounding them. It took Dean a minute to realize they were eyes.

“You shot him?” Sam hissed over the growls and snarls.

Dean squeezed his fist three times rapidly. He exchanged a glance with his brother. “Oops?”

Cas paced the length of the cell they’d all been thrown into. Dean was getting vertigo, but he was also kind of scared of him in that moment and his ribs were more of a problem anyway. Like, a much bigger problem. Being tackled by giant invisible dogs had been the straw that had broken the camel’s back, so to speak. Or the human’s ribs, if they had to be technical about it.

“You shouldn’t have come for me,” Kaia rasped from where she was curled up in a corner. “You should have left _immediately_.”

“Hey, no,” Sam said gently. Claire looked heartbroken. He gingerly slid over to Kaia, one arm resting on her scrawny knee. “Not your fault, okay? You’re not the monster who stole people away from their homes, okay?”

If anything, it was Dean’s fault. But that line of thinking wasn’t going to alleviate their situation.

“Sam’s right,” Cas added. “He’s usually right, so you should listen to him.” He cracked a soft smile at her.

Her lips trembled in response, but she took a deep breath, nodding gratefully.

Dean felt a small body sit down next to him. He turned to see Claire studying him carefully. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“You look like shit,” she whispered.

“I think I cracked a few ribs,” Dean whispered back.

She winced sympathetically. “It’s nice to meet you. Officially.”

Dean huffed, immediately regretting it. He muffled a groan as pain shot up his body. He opened his mouth to snark something when there was a loud thud, followed by a creaking sound. Claire paled.

“Aw, isn’t this just sickeningly sweet,” the Limey asshole droned. “I almost hate to separate you all . . . but I do believe I’ll enjoy watching you bleed out even more. So, you have the count of ten. One, two, three . . .”

Dean scowled, pushing to his feet. Against the backdrop of snarls from invisible hounds, Ketch forced Cas, Kaia and Sam to the other side of the room. He knew where this was headed. With a firm press, he propelled Claire away from himself and to her father.

She shot him a worried look but complied.

“Hold up,” Sam called. “How about you tell us what you want before you start with the torture?”

“Hm, no,” Ketch hummed, assholishly. “I don’t actually _need_ this one here. It’s just a matter of manageability, nothing personal.”

Dean snorted. “You don’t think this is a bit of an overreaction? Mauling me for giving you a little nick?”

The man shrugged, stepping up to him with a flash of teeth. “How did you find us?”

Dean set his jaw, staring at him defiantly. The man shrugged casually, then quick as lightning, struck. He yelped as electricity coursed through him. It was way worse than being zapped by a taser. (Don’t ask him how he knew. He’d been a dumb teenager, okay?)

Distantly, he registered Sam and Cas shouting in alarm.

“Ah-ah, he’s a big boy. Unless you want him _really_ hurt, stay where you are. Now,” he grabbed Dean by the back of his collar, almost choking him to death. “I don’t have all day. I suggest you make a contribution to this conversation, before I feed the dogs.”

Around him, Dean could see the guys pressing the kids into the wall. The air before them shifted and swirled. Which meant the hounds were all converging there. From his position, bent over at the waist, he could see the handle of a blade dangling at Ketch’s belt.

He willed one of them to meet his gaze. Kaia did. He looked from her to the belt meaningfully. Her eyes widened minutely.

He ended up latching onto the handle, grappling to extricate it. Ketch let out a shout that was equal parts anger and alarm. By the time he recovered from the elbow to the gut, Dean had activated a blade and tossed the belt in the general direction of his brother. That was the good news.

The bad news was that the invisible mutts weren’t necessarily good boys. As in, they were willful. In that moment, their will had been to swarm the point of excitement.

“Come on!” Ketch cried, diving out of the way like a coward. As though trying to keep up the façade that he had any control over the hounds.

Still a little shaky from the electrocution, he was a little slow to bring up the blade. It didn’t slice clean through a neck as he’d calculated. Instead, it wedged into a solid form, drawing a a mournful whine. Grunting, Dean yanked it away, jumping to the side at the low growl at his back.

“Dean!” his head whipped to the side and his hand shot out to grab the gun sailing towards him. Sam went back to grappling with a dog.

They didn’t have a headcount, but the cell could only hold so many hounds. If two were dancing with Dean, one each with Sam and Cas, then . . .

“ _Kaia_ , _no_!” Claire’s voice cracked with the force of her yell. She’s been pushed into a corner. Kaia stood before her, bodily shielding her and brandishing a gun. She took a shot. There was a yelp from no apparent source.

Dean gripped his blade in both hands and slammed it down and under, into the hound he was straddling. It died with a pitiful gurgle and a spurt of hot, black blood.

Cas, who’d finished off another one almost simultaneously, let loose a shot. The space before the girls swirled, sinking to the ground. Sam grunted, basically bludgeoning his hound to death.

“ _Here boy!_ ”

Shit. Ketch.

He didn’t see it coming. There was no warning growl, no telltale displacement of air. There were just sharp claws raking down his front. He let out a strangled scream.

“ _No_!” Cas shouted.

“Cas, get Ketch!” Sam sounded much closer than he had been. Come to think of it, it was nice to have his other senses working. His eyes blinked open against a blurred vision and assorted black spots. “Dean?”

Hands gripped at him insistently.

“Sammy,” he croaked.

“Just stay still, okay? Gotta wait for Rowena, hold on.”

“Cas,” he muttered, forcing his jaw to unclench against the scalding agony.

“I don’t think he needs my help, man,” his brother huffed. It took him some effort but he turned his head to the side. By the gate, Castiel’s hands were wrapped around Ketch’s throat. He was growling, his face pure murder as the flesh turned blue under his grip.

“No, don’t,” Dean murmured, wincing in anticipation. Because Claire looked absolutely horrified, staring at her father. Kaia was attempting to block her view, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“You think this’ll end with me?” Ketch choked, grinning maniacally. _Please don’t say the Hydra company line,_ Dean thought, delirious with pain.

“I don’t care,” Cas growled, slamming the man’s head into the ground. Dean could see blood webbing out into the fissures on the floor. Ketch’s movements grew languid, fingers spasming as they gouged shallow gashes down his attacker’s face.

“You know how I found them?” he choked, lips turning blue. “Led us . . . right toꟷ” the sentence was never finished, on account of Cas prying his jaw open. Ketch seemed too weak to realize his other arm was free as Cas moved to grab a discarded shotgun. Kaia, who _did_ realize what was going on (and precisely why that was worried the shit out of him), buried Claire’s face against herself, turning her away.

The shot seemed almost muffled as the muzzle forced its way into Ketch’s mouth. Maybe that was just Dean’s failing senses. Maybe it was the dull thud of his heartbeat echoing in his head as he watched Cas sink his nails into skin.

Dean gagged. Sam was grabbing him, urging him to sit up so he wouldn’t end up choking on his own vomit. Claire was calling out to Cas, trying to escape her girlfriend's grip, “Dad! That’s enough!”

“Cas, stop,” Dean rasped. _Yeah, that’ll help._

“ _Dad._ ”

But that wasn’t Claire. Jack stood at the mouth of the cell, eyes wide as he stared at his father’s bloodied form. Traumatizing as it probably was, it was effective. Cas was off the floor in a heartbeat.

There was a tense silence as no one said anything. Then Jack was breezing into the room, mindful of the . . . deposits on the ground. He met Cas halfway in a hug.

“Jack,” Cas buried his face into his son’s mess of a hairdo. Dean felt relief permeate his bones. They’d gotten the kids back.

“Hey, come on,” Sam was suddenly jostling him. Not too hard, thankfully. God knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach that. “Dean, stay awake.”

Dean made an annoyed sound in response. He wanted to watch that smile Cas was toting. Could Sammy please stop being an interrupting bitch, momentarily? When he turned back to the little family, he saw two pairs of widened eyes staring at him in horror. Claire and Jack were going to need a _lot_ of therapy.

“Dean.” Oh, great. Now Cas was here. Not with his kids, but across the room. Very close to Dean. He wanted to tell the man to go back to them, but his tongue felt really heavy. He made a small noise instead, hoping it got the message across.

“You got him?” Sam sounded faraway. But that was okay. Dean didn’t think that was directed at him.

Then he was being moved. He slumped into the warmth of Cas’s hold, relishing the hand trailing through his hair. Chapped lips pressed into his hairline. “Keep your eyes open, okay? Dean?”

Dean hummed. That was a good idea. He pried them open. Wow, that took way more effort than it usually did. But he was glad he did because there was a _lot_ of red covering Cas. He pawed at the soaked shirt, “. . . hurt?”

Cas was looking down at him with an inscrutable expression. One of his hands caught Dean’s. But he didn’t push it away, holding it close to his own chest instead. Dean could feel his heartbeat, thumping away rapidly against his own loose fist. “It’s not mine. Don’t worry.”

“M’kay.”

He felt sticky and gross. Also, a lot of his body felt really numb and achy.

“Dean,” Cas said. He had a weird feeling Cas had been saying that for a while. He looked up at him. A little tendril of alarm flared up in his foggy mind, watching the terror in Cas’s eyes. “Stay here, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” Dean tried to frown. _Had_ he gone somewhere?

Then Cas was looking away from him. He followed his gaze, surprised to see Rowena kneeling on his other side. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He sounded really angry.

“I can’t _do_ anything, Castiel,” she was saying to him. She sounded angry but her expression was one of plain concern. “You need to get him to the ship. Now. The most I can do is ensure the debris outside doesn’t contaminate his wounds.”

Whose wounds?

“Rowena, you’re coming _with_ us.” And oh, Sam was back.

“Earthlings, we _do not_ have time for this,” Rowena exclaimed. “You cannot possibly travel with eight passengers aboard that ship. Take your brother and _leave_ , Samuel.” Her eyes fell on Dean and she shot him a soft smile.

He smiled back.

She made the low tutting laugh and reached out. “I’d suggest keeping him very close.” Cas was still gripping him tightly, so Dean had _no_ idea what she was talking about. There was a click, like the sound their tethers made when snapped into place. “Unfortunately, destroying the portal will release a very massive force, obliterating everything in its proximity.”

“ _What_ ,” Cas bit out, not asking, “the fuck are you talking about?”

Instead of being suitably intimidated, Rowena turned and hauled Sam down to her level, pressing a lod, smacking kiss against his cheek. Then she called, “Charlie, do you have them?”

Dean’s gaze swiveled to his brother. Sam turned from red to white as he gasped out, “Charlie, whatꟷ”

The last thing he heard was Rowena’s chiming laughter. Then the cloying darkness took over.

~~~

_It's the nexus of the crisis_  
_And the origin of storms_  
_Just the place to hopelessly_  
_Encounter time and then came me_


	8. Chapter 8

**Henderson, NV**  
**09.03.2011**

Ask him to break into a high security room in the dead of the night with armed patrol standing guard and the military only a few miles out? No problem. But interrupt his ever-elusive sleep and he’ll hold a grudge.

“Cas, come on, bro!”

“Shut the fuck up, Gabriel,” he growled. He needed some fucking coffee. And the safe wasn’t fucking cooperating. Gabriel had realized just how much of a bad idea badgering him would be, so he’d shut up. Mercifully.

When he finally got the safe open, it didn’t matter. He vowed to rip the other man’s head off. “It’s a key.”

He didn’t say more than that. He knew what was coming. _I dare you to ask me. Do it. Go ahead._

“Oh dear,” Gabriel said, faintly.

“No shit.”

“So . . . how’s aboutꟷ”

“ _No_.”

“Oh, come on! It’s probably something in there.”

“Then you can try it. I’m going home. Before the kids wake up.”

“Trust me, that is the least of your worries right now,” he took a deep breath. Cas refused to get guilted into getting arrested. Or murdered and thrown in a ditch. Whatever fit with this corruption conspiracy Gabriel had chanced upon. He cut the call.

He didn’t care about Gabriel’s next plea, he pocketed his lockpick and shut the safe, pocketing the key. Slipped out of the room and into the exposed vent he’d entered from. He’d claim he was getting too old to shuffle through vents for a mile straight, but well, he could say that about space travel too. Or sneaking away in the dead of the night. Or running away from his problems. _Nope, not thinking about that right now_.

He tumbled out into the parking garage and there it was. “Goddammit.”

Casting a furtive look about, he snuck up to the little keyhole. Not that that would help much. He was self-aware enough to realize that the moment he lowered his guard, he’d be caught. And it was difficult not to lower his guard when he saw the enormous stack of files inside the panel in the wall.

And of course, that was the moment he heard the click of a gun. It hadn’t been _that_ long since he’d heard a real one. He froze.

“You got clearance? Or are you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?”

He sighed, turned his head heavenward. “I’m dressed in black and that vent over there is open. You’re not that dumb, I’m hoping. Not if you’re employed here.” His eyes caught on the absurd name tag stitched onto his jacket. “Uriel.”

(People named after angels were fucking assholes. He’d know.)

The man was huge. Which, yeah, he knew how to deal with that. Size really did not matter (except when it did). 

The ease with which he was handling that gun, though?

“You seem like a smart guy. You gonna come with me peacefully or do I gotta shoot you in the foot? Because, you know, I’m just a guard.” Cas squinted at him. “I might miss and hit an artery.”

He swallowed. “How about I hand you the files and you let me go? It’ll be our little secret.” Carefully, he extended his arm, holding it still. Loosened his wrist. Let the deep-seated, simmering apprehension show, shifting from foot to foot.

The guard fell for it. Threw his head back and laughed.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he whipped the file. Hard.

Children don’t cry from paper cuts because they’re dramatic. Paper cuts hurt. Paper cuts that nearly take out your eye? Definitely causes tears . . . he wasn’t picky whether it was salty or bloody. One bought him more time though.

He slammed the gun away from his general direction and ran.

The guard roared. Cas ducked behind cars as he recovered and started firing. With precision. Against all odds, he made it to the exit. Turned. Raised a finger in salute.

And disappeared into the night.

“Kinda messed up for a drop-off point, don’t you think?”

His head snapped up. “Needed an alibi. In case Claire checked the GPS she stuck inside my shoe.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, reaching out to take the key from beside Cas. Cas shrugged his uninjured arm at him, “I didn’t wanna burst her bubble.” He got a judgmental chuckle in response.

He played with his fingers, trying to stay still. Coming here always incited that feeling in him. Be quiet. Stay still. Just in case . . . something. He didn’t know what he was looking for.

He kept his back to the headstone.

“Come on,” Gabriel stopped his imminent trip down a very dark, potentially delusional road. Cas turned to him, questioning. “You’ve earned a slice of pie. Kali has one in the oven.” Cas bit his lip, because if this was Gabriel’s idea of a clever reveal . . . “Oh, _wow_. Haha. You’re hilarious, you _child_.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“I’m staying for a while, thanks,” he waved a hand. “You go home to your wife and your . . . pie. In the oven.” He felt a pang as he said it. He refused to examine it.

“Cas.”

He looked away.

“Come on, bro. What are you going to do, sit here in the dark?”

He shrugged. Winced as it pulled on the haphazard patch up job on his arm.

“What the . . . are you _hurt_?”

He pushed to his feet, easily slipping Gabriel’s approaching arm. Made for the exit, pace surer than he felt. “Nope. Just old.” Which was also true. White lie.

“Hey, speaking of pie. And things to _do_. . .”

Cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck and it wasn’t from the chill of the evening. His steps grew unsteady so he paused. Turned to glance at Gabriel who was, amazingly, not reading the room. 

Panic and terror knotted uncomfortably in his gut. “Don’t,” he hissed harshly. “Not here.”

Uncharacteristic steel invaded the warm gaze. “Where then?” He turned to head to his car. And then back home.

“Nowhere. Go home.”

The next evening, he was still operating on considerable sleep debt when he boarded the ship.

When he found himself in a room that was far too bright, he slipped a few bottles into his bag. Remuneration. For the shitty pay. He could probably switch the labels and sell them off to a chemist. Or to Gabe and his research team.

That was what he planned to do, anyway.

~~~

_History shows again and again_  
_How nature points up the folly of man_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude title from Godzilla by Blue Oyster Cult. Google says it translates to "please evacuate as soon as possible", which I thought was _hilarious_ in that context.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 5  
My Two Dads: A tragic tale of secondhand embarrassment

**Dean’s pod, Zeta-362**  
**09.28.2014 Earth + 1 Year 4 Months (? Days)**

He was super disoriented when he woke up. For one, the darkness was gone. That was good.

He didn’t feel like someone had poured a vat of acid down his front. Also good.

Cas was curled up next to him, slumped against a mound of pillows Dean didn’t remember possessing. Very, very good.

He hadn’t noticed Dean was awake yet. So he took it upon himself to amend that. Poked the little sliver of skin he could see where the other man’s shirt had hitched up. Cas jumped, dropping his tablet and almost getting Dean on the nose.

“Hi,” Dean smiled widely at the soft look of annoyance. “Come here often?”

Then Cas’s expression morphed into . . . something else. “You’re awake.”

Dean hummed in response. It hit him suddenly. _Rowena_.

He needed to check on Sammy. 

Then Cas was leaning over and cupping his face between two warm palms. Because it was Cas, and Cas never did anything Dean wanted him to, he didn’t kiss him. Instead, he peered down at Dean with such intensity it made the latter squirm.

“What?” he muttered.

The lump of Cas’s throat jumped as he exhaled. His breath was minty. It was nice. “I was making you a sweater.”

O . . . kay? He’d sort of figured.

“The color was horrible. It took me four days to find something that could actually wash you out. It’s honestly your fault for looking like you do,” Cas was telling him from three inches away. “I had to bring out the big guns. Jack is pasty so any fluorescent shade turns him into an eyesore. He’s gotten pumpkin orange ever since he was a baby. Claire,” there’s a soft smile on his face. “Claire was horrified when I gave her the lime green sweater. Kept telling everyone that she’d been adopted by a family of serial killers. We had to sit her down before CPS came knocking.”

Dean swallowed. His mind was filled with static.

“Meg tried to lose me at Walmart when I filled our cart with this clunky, shedding golden wool. One of the arms was too long and the neck had to be folded down thrice before she could get her nose out the top.”

His breath clogged his throat. “Cas.”

“I have no idea when we started it. It feels like forever,” he shuddered out a breath. “I wanted to finish it before we returned. In case it was close to Christmas when we did.”

Fuck. He felt hot tears rise. Dammit Cas.

“Tell me you’ll wear the fucking sweater.”

“Yes,” Dean whispered brokenly. “I’m gonna wear whatever ugly-ass lumpy sweater you make for me.”

The thing about decoding Cas was . . . it took a while. But you’d never hear Dean say it wasn’t worth the effort.

“I love you, Dean,” he leaned forward and captured Dean’s lips in a bruising kiss. “I should’ve said it before. I had so many chances, _fuck_ ꟷ”

Dean shushed him, pulling him back in with a palm at his nape. “Tell me something.”

“Anything,” Cas promised, almost wrapped around him.

Dean nosed at the shallow dip of his chest. “What’s color’s yours?”

The ensuing pinch didn’t really hurt. Giggling maniacally in response did. He wouldn’t trade it for all the painkillers in the world.

Dean followed the sound of chatter slowly, finding his way to the mess hall with a lot of aid from the walls. The kids sat at the table, Cas hovering nearby with a thermos. _Mother-hen._

Dean chuckled. That alerted Cas to his presence and he abandoned said thermos, closing the distance with three long strides. Hands cupped his face. He closed his eyes as Cas pulled him into a deep kiss.

“I didn’t pass out on the way,” he informed pointedly when they broke apart.

Cas gave him a gentle smile, “I know. That was your reward.”

“That’s all?” he pouted.

“Well . . . your ribs are fucked. I don’t know what else I can offer.”

“You’re scarring us right now,” Claire informed them. “This is textbook psychological trauma.”

Behind Cas’s back, where he was sure the man couldn’t see it, he gave her the bird. The kids laughed, delighted. He was going to be _great_ with them. What the fuck were those parenting books even talking about?

“Is Sam coming for dinner?”

“Nah,” he smiled to soften the blow. “I don’t think he’s feeling up to company right now. Just give him some space, okay?” Cas grimaced but he nodded. “You get the _actual_ kids settled. I’ll go prep us for hyperdrive.”

“Can you take that right now?” he queried.

Dean huffed, “Morphine. _Duh_.”

He’d finished setting up the boosters for 240 minutes when ASTERIA summoned him to Rowena’s old quarters. Dean steeled himself, preparing for the worst.

But he wasn’t greeted by a wasted Sam, a weepy Sam, or even a watching-the-darkness-mournfully Sam. Sam was hunched over a screen. Which was strangely normal for him. Then he saw what was on the screen.

“She recorded a message. For all of us,” Sam muttered. “Are Cas and Charlie here yet?”

Dean shifted, letting Cas and a very tired Charlie file in. Jack followed, apparently as unwilling to leave his dad’s side as the other way around.

Sam hit play.

“Hello, crew,” Rowena started. “I assume we’ve parted ways, if you’re seeing this video. Now, I won’t say that cheesy dialogue, because I’m not entirely certain it applies here. I plan to destroy an interdimensional portal, at any cost. I don’t know if you know what this is, but I’m sure the Queen can provide you with any clarifications you require. I’ll keep this brief, because it feels odd to be talking to myself here. I hope you don’t mind that I stole this computer of yours for this, Sam.

Charlie, it has been an honor to serve by your side, my sister. However, the next time a lady with a dexterous tongue offers to bed you, accept. Life is too short to be enslaved by monogamy.”

Cas slapped his hands onto Jack’s ears, wide-eyed. Dean smirked at Charlie.

“Castiel, I know we never quite trusted each other fully, but I do wish to let you know you’ve been a source of strength and inspiration to me.” Cas took his hands away, shooting Dean an emotional look. Dean reached out and squeezed his hand. “And numerous sexual fantasies, though you share that honor with your dashing lover.”

Cas sighed, covering his own face in defeat. Jack went red, fascinated by the blank wall. Dean shrugged to himself.

“Dean,” she grinned widely and then winked. Didn’t add anything else. What the fuck.

Yeah, okay. She’d revived Cas. Twice. Possibly saved Sam from freezing in outer space. Been the best wing-woman a guy could have.

He couldn’t ask for more.

“Samuel,” her smile turned more sincere. “I see qualities in you I only ever saw in the best of my kind. I hope you see it too, one day. I’ve left a little something for you on your electronic reader.” _Please don’t be nudes, please don’t be nudes._ “It’s my life’s work. And yes, I’m very old . . . too old for you, by the way. But I’m certain you’ll make good time perusing the copious notes and ahꟷ insights, I would call them.” She wiggled her fingers at the camera. “I hope we cross paths again, someday. Goodbye, my darling crew.”

The screen went black.

“Buckle up,” the Commander said to the kids, sternly. Kaia, who was either an actual angel or desperately trying to win favor from the future in-law, complied. The other two, though, made an exaggerated show of it.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Claire mocked, tipping an imaginary hat.

“Spoilsport,” Jack pouted, cheekily saluting.

Dean bit his lip. Sam was having a silent conniption. Cas just looked heavenward.

“Now,” Dean turned to the kids, packed into the middle between two pairs of adults. “I know it sounds super-cool, and let’s be honest, it is. But hyperdrive is not a walk in the park. At all times, stay in your seats, hold on and don’t panic. If there’s something wrong, you tell us, over the earpieces. Immediately,” he levelled a look at Cas on that last word. Man had the guts to scowl.

God, he was an actual brat and Dean loved him.

“What, no bathroom breaks?” Claire rolled her eyes.

“Pee in the suit, if you have to. Those are going straight to the incinerator anyway.” He was met by three very distrustful squints.

“Bravo, seatbelt please,” ASTERIA snipped.

He groaned. “Yes, Mom.”

It wasn’t as bad as last time. No one went comatose, for one. He’d checked. _Immediately_. The only downside was that Kaia had thrown up in her helmet. Which was . . . yeah. You didn’t have to tell him how bad that was. Dean threw up in the toilet, as befits a veteran of space sickness.

“Painkillers,” he demanded hoarsely, leaning against the doorway. Cas looked annoyed, because he did that thing where he looked up, like praying for strength or something. Then he hand fed the pills to Dean, like a sap.

“Are they boning yet?” Jack muttered.

“Hey,” Cas barked at him. “None of your beeswax.”

“I’m like, ninety-percent sure,” Claire wagered loftily, ignoring her father’s outraged expression.

No one had decided to inform him that they weren’t travelling via Oziome. Because his “injuries” were too “serious” to be “left untreated” for “too long”. He was quoting that. Which meant no poppy air. And also that Charlie wasn’t getting safely delivered to her people. Obviously, the latter took precedent. Obviously.

Still, the decent thing to do was to crack open some liquor and bitch about the dumber half of the crew with her. Dean went off to do just that.

There must’ve been some conspiracy in place, because Charlieꟷ _Charlie_ ꟷ betrayed him. Plucked his glass right out of his fingers and knocked it back. Then knocked her own drink back. Then half the bottle, plucking it easily from Dean’s grip.

“Just promise me a tour of your adorable planet. For the inconvenience.”

“Uh . . .”

“Say yes, my friend.”

“Yes, my friend,” he parroted. “Wait, so . . . ‘inconvenience’?”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Reeling from _that_ interaction (did no one make sense anymore?), he’d ended up outside their shared bedroom.

Claire and Kaia had settled into Rowena’s old room, after a heated argument between the siblings where at least one foot was stomped. Feeling bad, Dean had offered Jack his own. Out of the goodness of his heart and with no ulterior motives in mind. None whatsoever.

He pushed the door to the pod he just _happened_ to share with Cas, as a result. He paused. Grabbed the camera from the mess. Clicked a picture.

“Sam, lookit,” he called as he ambled into the mess, almost crashing into the doorway because his eyes were glued to a screen. “Sammyꟷ oh. Sorry. Have you seen Sam?”

Kaia smiled at him from where she was tucked against the window, fiddling with Sam’s iPod. Turned out, their music tastes matched. No judgement to her, but he had shot a look full of it at Sam. “I think he’s in the shower.”

He nodded, backing away with an easy smile. Then he paused. Walked back over to her and extended the camera. “Think I’ll get in trouble for this?”

She watched him for a moment before looking down. Smiled slightly. “I don’t know about Castiꟷ Cas. But Claire and Jack will probably want a copy. They might say they won’t . . .”

“. . . but they will,” Dean looked down at the picture. Cas was out, leaning up against the wall. One kid on each arm. Jack was frowning in discomfort, Claire’s locks poking his nose. They looked like they’d fallen asleep right in the middle of a heart-to-heart. Or whatever it is normal families did.

“She’s actually a softie. Don’t tell her I told you,” Kaia grinned.

He chuckled, “Cas is too. Don’t tell him I told you.”

Kaia shrugged at him, engrossed in fiddling with her sleeves. “You don’t have to sell him to me. I know he’s a stand-up guy. I’m just introverted. And I don’t know how to act in a healthy family dynamic.”

Dean huffed, “Tell me about it. My dad? Dropped me and Sammy off with our surrogate dad and decided to quit. I was nine.” She winced as though she knew exactly how he felt. Maybe she did. “But it was for the best, you know? The way my dad had been going? He’d have gotten himself killed, us with him. The family I found? Best I could ask for.” He drummed his fingers softly. “Sam and I got a dad who put us above everything, no matter how down he himself was. The family you just found yourself in? They’d do that in a heartbeat too.”

She smiled at that, a small, hesitant thing.

He plucked out the napkin he’d stuffed in his pocket, with Jody’s details. Handed it to her. “And if you need someplace to set up home base back on Earth? She’s good people too.”

“Thank you,” Kaia said, after a long time.

“We wayward kids gotta look after one another,” he winked, heaving himself off his perch. Turned to head back down the hallway. “Yo, Samantha! You done choking the chicken?”

“ _Jesus_ , Dean! There are kids around!” Sammy shrieked across the hallway.

He snorted.

~~~

**Henderson, NV**  
**01.21.2016**

It was the best landing of his life. Hands down. The ship didn’t even lurch sideways, settling onto the ground gently. That, and he was high as a kite. And Cas was holding his hand. To make sure that Dean wouldn’t tumble off or something but it still counted.

The first thing he’d done was lift that brilliant kid Kevin Tran off his feet in a hug. Genius nerds made squeaky sounds upon losing footing, who knew? The second thing he’d done was force the rest of the crew to partake in the pie Gabriel’s wife had sent for them. He’d graciously allowed Crew-2 to join them.

Then, they’d gotten down to serious business.

Dean scrunched his nose in distaste as he exited the decontamination showers. Kaia and Claire sat side by side, apparently done with their tests. They looked deeply engrossed in a private conversation, hooked up to their respective IVs. He took one look at Claire’s face and swerved, turning to the table on the other side of the room.

It was an inappropriate time for his mouth to go dry, so _it_ _didn’t_. Cas was curled forward, elbows on his knees, looking extremely bored. Whatever Jack was babbling about didn’t seem to be helping.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” he jibed, breezing over to them. Jack grinned at him in greeting, and Dean ruffled his hair. Kid was just so gosh darn adorable. His dad too, so Dean leaned over and pecked Cas on the lips. Cas immediately looked livelier.

“That’s Doctor Sexy, M.D. to you,” Balthazar hummed. Dean rolled his eyes. This is why he never told Cas anything. He was outraged that the man had sold him out to Balthazar, of all people. He turned to Kevin, raising an expectant brow and steadfastly ignoring the smirks.

The kid shrugged helplessly, “Okay, there’s literally no way to trace whatever ESP Cas is blasting into space, but I ran a couple of tests on like, all samples. Just need to get a couple more done.”

Cas winced at that and Dean ran his palm along the smooth, slightly sweaty line of his shoulders.

“Okay, hold still,” Kevin mumbled, already lost back into whatever world he was traversing.

“I _have_ been holding still,” Cas grumped. Dean ran a hand through his hair. Balthazar quirked an eyebrow at him but said nothing, leaning down to inject something right into Cas’s spine. Because he was pretty bamf, Cas barely reacted.

“ _Now_ you really gotta hold still,” the other man warned. Cas pulled a face at that.

There was a whirring, beeping sound like in a bad sci-fi movie. Then Kevin was holding a flat scanning machine up, the iridescent blue glow illuminating the expanse of Cas’s exposed skin. The backlighting threw his face into sharp relief, darkness highlighting the shadows under his eyes. The humming continued for a good few minutes, and he belatedly wondered if it was even safe for him and Jack to be watching the procedure from such close proximity.

Probably. Balthazar would tell them otherwise, right? Maybe not _him_ , specifically, but he’d tell Jack at least.

The light faded, leaving its imprint seared into his retinas. He blinked rapidly to get rid of it.

“Well?” Cas grit out, at length.

“Nope,” Kevin hummed. “But again, the lack of evidence doesn’t imply absence.”

Cas clenched his jaw. “So, it’s possible that I _did_ lead Ketch here. I simply have no way of knowing for sure.”

“Well . . . I mean. We don’t have the tech, man. I dunno what else to tell you.”

Dean believed him. Kid was probably one of the best on the planet. If he didn’t know how . . . and Charlie hadn’t sensed anything or whatever, either. “He was probably just messing with your head, Cas.”

Cas watched him carefully before shrugging, unconvinced. _Yeah, that checks out._

He’d make him forget all about a possible intergalactic beacon shining out of his ass, later. By putting something way better in there. If he said so himself.

Sex didn’t count as ‘strenuous activity’, okay? If anything, it was a relaxant.

“Dean,” Cas moaned, low and desperate. Dean would even go so far as to say he was _begging_. His eyes were closed, head thrown back in ecstasy. Dean leaned down and laid gentle kisses on every inch of skin he could reach. Cas sighed happily.

He was a little bit in love with that soft smile.

“Gonna come for me, Commander?” he whispered against the rough scrape of stubble. Cas didn’t respond in words. His chest arched off the mattress and Dean shivered at the tightness clenching around him. He pulled out, lazily finishing off with his own hand as he settled into the crook of Cas’s neck, avidly watching him come down from his high. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, nosing at the line of his throat. His fingers fumbled with the knot of the solitary tie he’d found in Cas’s closet.

The silken blue cascaded down taut muscles as it was undone. Cas was too deep into the afterglow to do it, so Dean tugged his arms away from the headboard and between their bodies.

“Mmh,” Cas mumbled. “No, you are.” He turned so he could pull Dean flush against him.

He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he felt soft kisses pressing into his eyelids. He opened them to Cas just watching him with a cloudy gaze.

“What?” he whispered, shivering. He pulled the comforter up to cover them both and immediately hated himself for it because, yes, Cas looked adorable all tucked in, but that little freckle over his nipple had disappeared. “Cas . . . I’m getting the feeling you’re overthinking again.”

“I . . . I really love you.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

He wasn’t feeling particularly verbose so he placed a desperate kiss upon his lips. He loved the little gasp that came from him nipping at a plush bottom lip.

“I’m justꟷ” Cas was interrupted by a small oral excursion on Dean’s part. “Okay. You make a valid point.”

“Shut up, you dick,” he groaned, resealing his lips to Cas’s, intent on making the man forget words, in general. He straddled him, muffling Cas’s complaints with his mouth.

“You cannot _possibly_ go again,” Cas lamented.

Dean grinned down at him. “Not only that, I can get you going again,” he threatened, reaching under himself to do just that. It didn’t take much and Cas was good to go, so he sunk in with one swift move.

“Fuck!” Cas hissed, fingernails raking down Dean’s back.

He bit his lip in consideration, and Cas started to look mildly concerned. Good.

(The tie made an excellent gag as well.)

They were both tucked in nicely in the aftermath, trading lazy kisses, when someone started beating down on the door like the house was on fire. Cas groaned.

“ _What_?” he called out, adorably grumpy.

“Are you two naked?” came the muffled snark.

“Yes, we are,” Dean called back. Cas pinched his nipple in reprimand. Dean just moaned exaggeratedly in response. “Full frontal in here.”

“Ew!” And there was Jack. Great.

“Well, could you get a little less naked?” Claire called. “In fact, a lot less would be preferable.”

Dean grumbled under his breath. Cas sighed deeply, twisting and turning till he escaped Dean’s hold. He hopped from foot to foot as he pulled on his pants, “Just tell me neither of you went near the kitchen.”

They hadn’t. Halle-fuckin’-lujah. Dean had found outꟷ the hard wayꟷ that one _could_ , in fact, turn eggs to coal. He’d only read about that in books, before that fateful morning. It was quite an experience watching it unfold.

“Hey, Kaia,” Cas went fidgety when he saw the girl on the couch, three feet away from their door. Dean rolled with it, marching over to pull her into a brief hug. She squeezed back hard, far less tentative than she’d been initially.

He’d been realizing the kids were a little touch starved. Made sense, given that it had been two ageless years for them in captivity.

“Hello,” she greeted them sweetly. “I got the yarn you wanted, Cas.”

Distracted away from his embarrassment, Cas admired the godawful cyanꟷ _cyanꟷ_ skeins. Dean put a brave face on despite the rising despair that _that_ color was going to be _on_ him in four days. They were having a late Christmas-and-New Year. Cas promised him at least a muffler and at most a poncho. What kinda messed up psycho made a cyan poncho?

Meanwhile, there was something happening there. There was an elephant he couldn’t identify prancing around the room. Kaia seemed distracted as she conversed about the new craft store with Cas. Claire was wringing her hands, compulsively tucking her hair behind her ears. Jack was beaming, ignoring the pointed jabs he received from her sister for doing so. (That last one wasn’t much of a clue, given that Jack beamed about a lot of things. He’d beamed like that when he’d discovered the Oreo cereal was relaunching, just a week ago.)

Still . . . he narrowed his eyes at them, drawling, “Claire?”

She looked back at him nervously. “Yes?”

Dean watched her for a moment. Clucked his tongue. “How’s the car running? Smooth? Everything you’d dreamt of and more?”

She made a little noise. Kaia laughed adoringly at her, “Will you just tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Cas was dropping the fucking yarn, finally catching on. He glanced at Dean, as if _he’d_ know what shenanigans Cas’s kids were up to.

Claire squeaked again.

Kaia sighed. “Claire proposed.”

“She said yes!” Jack was almost vibrating in excitement. “It was sappy. Apparently, Claire cried.” He was promptly whacked upside the head.

Dean watched Cas, frozen on the couch, gaping wordlessly. Castiel.exe had stopped working. Deciding to give him a minute, Dean high-fived and hugged all three kids. Turns out, Jack _really_ was vibrating in joy. Turning to Kaia, he added, “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“You’re gonna get an ugly sweater,” Jack informed her gleefully. “It’s going to be scratchy and indestructible.”

Goddammit. He was hoping he’d be able to burn his.

“Dad?” Claire said softly.

Cas, still rooted in his seat, blinked at her. Then his chin went wobbly. His voice was basically the exact same pitch as Claire’s squeaks when he exclaimed, “ _Claire_!” and squeezed the life out of her. Well, almost. Then he turned to Kaia and proceeded to hug the shit out of her too.

“Are you really going to make two sweaters in four days?” she demanded mushily, smushed and probably suffocating. “Just seems like an awful lot of work. I wouldn’t mind getting mine next year. Or later. Maybe evenꟷ”

Cas hushed softly. “Fuchsia,” he promised her, choking with emotion. “With aꟷ” he swallowed, “lime peter-pan collar.”

The spotlight was on Charlie. Laser-focused.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, swallowing. She looked up and nodded solemnly. “This drink . . . I like it.”

Claire and Jack, little brats, slapped their palms onto the table and exclaimed. “ _Another_!”

Sam snickered. Cas just shook his head at them disapprovingly, but Dean could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Charlie, as usual, looked unfazed. She nodded at the kids, “I concur.”

Claire innocently volunteered to get the next round. Cas shattered her dreams with a firm hand to the shoulder. She pouted, “Daaaaad, I’m almost twenty-one!”

“Like that ever stops you,” Jack snorted next to her, jerking back to his milkshake at the vitriolic look his sister shot him.

“I’d argue that I _need_ the alcohol, on account of all the psychological scarring lately,” she turned back to him and Cas. Dean shrugged apologetically. Cas, who had like, zero chill, turned red. He made a flimsy excuse about some phone call and disappeared, practically leaving trails.

On his other side, Sam was commiserating. Dean flicked his brother’s ear, at which point Sam beat a hasty retreat to get the next round himself.

Cas and Sam returned in the middle of Kaia explaining the concept of officiants to Charlie. Which was crucial, if they wanted the Queen to officiate.

Cas immediately locked onto his kids. Then he turned to Dean, “Did you give them your beer?”

“What?” he gasped up at the man. “I would _never_.”

“Mm-hm,” Cas narrowed his eyes at him, plonking another couple of milkshakes before said kids. They smiled up at him sweetly. He sighed wearily, turning to Claire and offering her a _look_. “Will you _stop_!”

Dean’s head swiveled between father and daughter. Cas didn’t look genuinely pissed. In fact, he was definitely turning red again. Claire noisily slurped the dregs of her first milkshake, eyes fixed on her father.

From beside her, Kaia raised her eyebrows at Dean. He shrugged, clueless.

“ _Fine_ ,” Cas hissed. Then he turned to Dean and grabbed his hand. Dean watched him expectantly.

“Wait, _now_?” Claire’s cool collapsed. “ _Here_?”

Cas ignored her. He leveled one of his intense stares at Dean, ones that ensnared and enraptured him, and explained, “Claire and I made a pact.”

Jack made an affronted noise from the sidelines.

Neither of them paid him any mind. Then Cas kneeled down between Dean’s legs. “So. Dean Winchester.”

Wait a minute.

“You’ve already accepted my ugly Christmas sweater.”

Whoa. Wait a goddamn minute.

“Will you accept my ring?”

Jesus fucking Christ, Castiel. Dean stared at him mutely.

Then he asked, “Is it cyan?”

“Titanium. I couldn’t get it in a questionable hue, but,” he was digging into his pocket now. He was digging into his pocket _now_. How long had he been planning this? “I figured we could be a little sappy.” In his palm were two rings. Plain, elegant bands. One with a deep blue line of stone running down the middle and one with a green one. “So?”

Dean’s eyes strayed back to his face. Underneath the easy mien, he could see the clouds of uncertainty and nervousness. The discomfort about doing this so publicly. Just because it was important to Dean. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

Sam’s whoop interrupted their celebratory kiss. Accompanied by Jack and Claire’s exaggerated gagging.

“I feel like I deserve _all_ the credit here,” Claire said after their fourth round. She’d acquired a beer in the confusion, and no one had the heart to take it away from her. Before Cas could complain, she leaned her elbows on the table and pointed at Dean, “ _I_ was the one who sat him down and told him that ugly Christmas sweaters don’t have the same ‘marry me’ vibe that rings do.”

“You basically peer-pressured him,” Jack pointed out.

Dean considered that. “Okay, fair. I didn’t even _realize_ that had been a marriage proposal. And I was hella doped up.” Cas’s face which was twitching in places he didn’t even _know_ could twitch.

Sam guffawed in delight, “Any comment, Cas?”

Cas simply fixed Dean’s kid brother with a _look_ and very precisely, flicked a greasy fry into his hair.

In the ensuing chaos, Charlie polished off the whole round by herself. She proceeded to liberally bestow the plants outside the bar with some alien bile.

Dean grinned at Cas in the dim glow emanating from the bar. “I love everyone in this bar.” Cas smiled at him tugging him closer. Dean pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “And you.”

~~~

_Don't you give up easily_   
_You'll have to pick the lock_   
_Open up enigmas_   
_You'll find mysteries_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gay man and a lesbian get married. In that order.

~ Two Weddings and A Funeral ~

**Topanga, CA**  
**04.11.2019**

It was one week before the big day, and Dean was being an absolute Dadzilla (Father-of-the-Bride-zilla, even). He’d actually enforced a regimen on them. Eight glasses of water a day, trail mix in lieu of Cheetos and no all-nighters.

She’d had to hold their joint bachelorette a full two weeks before the big day. 

Dad wasn’t any help either, content to sit on the sidelines and cheer him on. To be fair, he was probably plain terrified. A lot of people had been, since that little, er, _incident_ with the cake decorator. (Which, again, she was a homophobic bitch. So it wasn’t uncalled for or even remotely unsatisfying.)

It was just. Intense.

And now they didn’t _have_ a baker and Dean had decided he’d ‘do that myself, then. Thanks for nothing, Cas’.

So . . . yeah. There was a reason why she was literally hiding in a cramped closet in Kaia’s temporary apartment.

“And you’re _sure_ she’s not here?” Dad was asking.

“Cas, you _know_ I’d tell you if she was. I think she just needed some space, you know? Clear her head. At least tomorrow’s just the rehearsal.” People claimed her girlfriend was the most virtuous, trustworthy soul they’d ever crossed paths with. People were _idiots_.

Dad sighed. “Yeah, okay. I don’t see you fretting about her leaving you at the altar. So . . . make sure she doesn’t have bags under her eyes?” Then, quieter, “I’ll go make sure my husband doesn’t kill the caterer over the placemats. I swear he wasn’t even this stressed about _our_ wedding.”

_That’s because you two eloped._

“That’s because you two eloped,” Kaia pointed out dryly. Claire’s in love with this girl, did you know?

“And you never let us forget it,” Dad’s voice was fainter, which meant he was walking away. They’d actually pulled it off.

There was a few minutes of silence. Then, “He’s gone.”

Claire warily stared at her through the slats and started, “Don’t sayꟷ”

“You can come out of the closet now.” She sounded _so_ proud of herself. Dork.

Claire briefly entertained the idea of withholding sex till their honeymoon. Which was a whole week away. _Goddammit_.

~~~

**Topanga, CA**  
**04.18.2019**

Dean was a wizard. He’d definitely learnt _something_ from their old friend Rowena, ignore his protestations. Because this place? It looked like it was something out of a fairytale. That sounded _super_ cheesy, and she was not going to be forgiving her family for reducing her to that state.

(But it was true. And perfect.)

“You know what would really suck?” Jack said. He was perched on the makeup counter, gangly legs swinging. “If you spilled wine on that white dress.”

Claire glared at him. She knew for a fact that the ridiculous silver eyeliner was dampening the effect. She’d begged‒ _begged_ ‒ that they send Jack off to some distant planet for the month. No luck. (Which was stupid, because she was basically the boss of her own wedding, right?)

“I’m not going to spill _anything_ on my wedding dress, because this baby isn’t coming off until Kaia decides it should.”

“Ew,” he made that face like when Dad had tried to make broccoli crust pizza. “I don’t want to hear about that.”

It was hard to concentrate on the scintillating convo with that goddamn tie looking like that.

“What sort of grown man doesn’t know how to knot a tie?”

“Dad did this,” he frowned, looking down at it.

She stared at him. Because that was _worse_. If it wasn’t for Dean, she’d be terrified about moving away and leaving Dad and Jack to fend for themselves. “It’s _backwards_.”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Go! Get Dean to fix it!” Claire exclaimed.

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes, pushing off the table. “No one’s going to be looking at my _tie_ , Claire.” He stomped off like a moody teenager. Which was what he was. Her mind refused to comprehend that they were older, because their bodies hadn’t been aging. It was disconcerting and terrifying. She wasn’t ready to be done with being just across the legal-drinking-age mark.

This was a brief reprieve. A moment of stillness in the eye of the wedding storm. 

Her arms were still scarred. Kaia had refused the long-sleeved dress she’d chosen. Told her what she needed to hear.

That they were battle scars, symbols of survival and not disfigurement. They’d tried their hardest to escape, protect and survive. Just needed a little help from their friends for that first one. 

She was annoyingly sensible about everything. Diametric contrast to her paintings, all chaos and vibrant dissonance. 

There was a soft knock.

“You decent?”

She looked up. “We’d be very far behind schedule if I wasn’t.”

Dad smiled. He took a few steps closer and paused. Claire fidgeted under the focus of the sappiness on his face. “What?”

He reached out and pulled her to her feet. “You look beautiful, honey.”

There was a glib comment on the edge of her tongue. She swallowed it down, whispering, “Thanks, Dad,” instead. Then she raised her hands, “If you hug me and crinkle the dress, your husband will kill us both.”

He just smiled, leaning over and pecking her on the forehead. It was nice. _Please don’t smudge._ “That was from your Mom.”

Oh, _come on_. Not already!

“ _Dad_ ,” she choked out. “I haven’t even made it down the aisle yet!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he shook his head. “You’re right, Dean’s going to kill us.” He sounded a little choky himself. Claire scowled half-heartedly. “Do you need help with that thing?” he was eyeing the veil warily. “Is it . . . alive?”

She punched him in the arm. “Kaia picked it out. I literally have no choice in the matter.”

He shrugged, holding it up gingerly. “You’re whipped.”

“Contracted it from you,” she shot back. He looked heavenward. And just like that, balance was restored.

By some miracle, Dad managed not to make her cry as he walked her down the aisle. She made a mental note to get him a cookie later. When she saw Jack’s tie (perfectly knotted), she added two more recipients to the list.

The music segued smoothly. She held her breath.

Kaia looked . . . well, Claire definitely felt a little light-headed. All the cookies to Jody, Donna and Patience. (And Alex too, _fine_.)

Kaia shot her a cute, nervy smile and tightened her grip on Dean’s arm. He winked at her.

It was easier after that. Nope, it was _perfect_.

Astonishingly, Charlie did not sound like an alien, at any point during the ceremony. Even more astonishing was the fact that Jack didn’t drop the rings. Dean didn’t have a panic attack when the mic went offline for a hot minute. Dad didn’t actually cry until the very end of their vows.

And you know the best part?

She said, “I do.”

~~~

**Malibu, CA**  
**04.13.2019**

It was a beautiful day. 

They’d found a calm, secluded little beach. It was quiet enough that they could hear the seagulls crying and the waves lapping at the shore. Dean wiggled his toes into the retreating foam, managing to get sand trapped in his nail beds. 

Moving to California had to be the best decision of Claire’s life. Having the wedding there? Pure genius. 

Speaking of, he was thoroughly enjoying the little reprieve from the aggressive wedding planning. Making Ruby cry had been extremely gratifying, but then he’d realized he had no idea how to actually assemble a six-tier cake.

Anyway, that was tomorrow-Dean’s issue.

Arms encircled his waist from behind and he leaned back into Cas’s warmth with a soft greeting.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied. Dean could feel his smile against his cheek. He turned his head for a (restrained) kiss. It wasn’t his fault the beach was so romantically idyllic.

“Is Sammy here yet?” he mumbled quietly. He didn’t want to disrupt the almost sacrosanct swashing symphony of the sea.

“Yeah. He’s parking the car. I think he enjoyed his campus visit,” he whispered back. Dean hummed. Brother knows best, just like he’d told Sam before dropping him off at his alma mater. 

Besides, ever since Kaia had received her acceptance, Claire had morphed into a literal jitterbug. She needed to see that Stanford wasn’t hostile territory. It was just a place full of people like her, merely a few hours away from her new home. “I think Claire is definitely feeling more optimistic about getting into the program.”

Of course she was. She had Kaia with her. Dean was feeling pretty optimistic himself, these days.

As if reading his mind, Cas gently traced the edges of the raised scars at his waist. They didn’t hurt anymore. Just like the faint white line down the side of his husband’s face. He had a feeling his own marks weren’t going to fade away like Cas’s eventually would. But then again, his own night terrors had faded into the occasional nightmare. Cas still woke up every other night, slipped out of bed, and sat cross-legged before the medicine cabinet until someone eventually found him as dawn broke through.

They were both a little damaged.

“Cas?”

“Hm?”

“Rowena didn’t seduce Ketch to escape, did she?”

Cas didn’t say anything, but his arm tightened.

“You make a damn fine Winslet, Dean-O,” Gabriel materialized. Dean _didn’t_ jump, but he didn’t necessarily stay still either.

“Gabe. Fuck off,” Dean grinned, stepping away.

Cas rolled his eyes at them as he drew his adopted brother into a brief hug. “How’s the pie?”

Dean was moderately confused. And hurt. There’d been pie? And no one thought to mention it to him? After the spectacular wedding planning he’d done, he deserved some goddamn pie.

“You’re never going to be funny, Castiel,” Gabriel informed snippily. “And the baby is just fine. As is the oven.” At which point, Dean was both confused and alarmed. Babies and oven were not two words that went together in a sentence.

“He means Kali,” Cas explained smugly. “Like the bun in the oven. It was something stupid Gabriel said many years ago.”

“That narrows it down,” Dean drawled.

Bro-in-law didn’t get to defend his honor as Cas’s came jogging along.

“Hey guys!” Sam attacked all of them with hugs, like an overzealous puppy. “It’s so tranquil here.”

“She’d hate it,” Cas huffed. “Probably cause a tsunami just to liven things up.”

Sam whacked him upside the head.

It was a short service, what with the possibility that Rowena was alive hanging over them. If she was, she hadn’t contacted Oziome. Dorothy had informed them that the intergalactic portal _had_ been obliterated, however. They’d found no identifiable residue to confirm Rowena was gone. Ketch, that bastard, had irrefutably turned to sawdust. Charlie, Stevie and Dorothy, who’d arrived early to help with the wedding, had all said soft, Oziomei prayers. Sam had been suspiciously dry-eyed. (Considering he’d caught Sam’s ‘she’s just a friend, Dean’, Jessica, rubbing a dainty hand over his back.) 

They’d all planted at least five hundred trees in the afternoon, in Rowena’s honor. (Dean had been reassured, repeatedly, that none of them would evolve into a tentacle monster.)

It had been a beautiful day.

He had a sneaking suspicion she’d secretly love it.

~~~

**Topanga, CA**  
**04.18.2019**

He’d love to say that he’d been the ideal doting husband during the ceremony. 

He’d tried, okay? It’s just that the hand holding had seemed to barrel Cas even further towards waterworks, so he’d started poking.

And then _Cas_ had tried to look pissed and touched at the same time and he’d just ended up looking like a murderous bunny rabbit. (You know those little emojis with the bunny holding a knife? Yeah, like that.)

“Did’ja live out your little bridal fantasies?” Bobby demanded, joining him at the bar.

Dean shot him a _look_.

Then Cas slipped a hand into his and gently leaned his temple against Dean’s. “Thank you.”

“Aw,” Bobby teased.

He sighed. Placed a loud, chaste kiss on Cas’s temple and said, “Ain’t no thang, angel.” Then pointed at Bobby, cutting off any smartass comments, “Idjit.”

He levelled another look at his surrogate dad as he shooed the old man telepathically. It took a hot minute and then Bobby was departing with a grumble. Dean rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. Cas snickered into his shoulder. 

In a couple of days, Claire and Kaia would be heading off to Palo Alto. Dean, Cas and even Jack had been emphatically banned from accompanying them. 

Their younger kid, who’d crossed the threshold to adulthood in captivity, wanted to go off on his own and see the world. That had been . . . a discussion. In the end, Cas had acquiesced, valiantly giving up his “little” yarn fund (what the fuck) for the _extremely_ well-endowed international cell plan.

Had Dean _known_ how expensive knitting was, he wouldn’t have tried to burn the Godawful Yellow Monstrosity. (He refused to call it a ‘sweater’. That thing was like a chastity device invented by an Amish mom.)

“Just so you know, you can’t apply for a divorce before we get married,” Castiel had said, before launching a smothering device into Dean’s face. Spitting out wisps of cheap yarn, Dean had finally regained use of his lungs and held up the . . . what was that even _supposed_ to be?

“Are you sure?” Dean had asked, wincing at the roughness of the material.

Cas had nodded solemnly in response. Dean had shot a glare in his general direction, twisting and turning the thing to figure out where the neck actually was. Then he’d caught sight of the very non-Christmassy designs on the front.

He’d groaned loud enough that the kids, in the other room and beyond a closed door, had started snickering. “You asshole.”

“It’s just precautionary. I figured you’d be less likely to burn it,” the asshole had replied, shuffling across the bed on his knees.

Dean’s gaze had flicked between the perfectly detailed lavender asters adorning the front of the lousy excuse for a sweater, and the wide blue eyes peering at him from behind what he _believed_ was the neck-hole.

He’d sighed, promising he’d only try to burn it once.

In hindsight, the warning might have something to do with the unsatisfactory results. (What sort of yarn didn’t burn? Did the Oziomei end up supplying Thor yarn to Cas? Was Thor yarn a real thing?)

In conclusion, was it gonna be a while before the Winchester-Novak-Masters household ate dinner together? All signs pointed to yes. 

“Dean,” Cas sounded moderately pissy. Dean had a feeling that wasn’t his latest attempt to get attention. Considering they’d have only each other for company for the foreseeable future, he should probably get started on that whole peaceful co-existence thing.

“Yes, angel cake?”

Oh, we do _not_ like that one. Wow, the last guy who’d received _that_ look had gotten his jaw ripped off.

“I was _trying_ to be romantic here and now you’ve ruined it. This is why I don’t.” Cas started scowling in earnest. Dean, who may be a little shit, but was still an attentive little shit, took his hands in his own. He grinned, tugging the other man towards the little alcove in the garden.

“No, you don’t try because you’re an emotionally-constipated, socially anxious little angel face.”

Cas sighed. “Thanks, honey.”

Covertly, he signalled the DJ. Cas screwed his face up thoughtfully, as though actively analyzing the song. Then he pouted, “This is a heartbreak song.”

“Shh . . .” Dean pecked him on the lips, sneakily wiggling into position to lead. “If you don’t stop criticizing my music choices, I’m gonna tie you up tonight.”

“That’s more incentive than threat,” Cas snarked back without missing a beat. But there was an adorable dusting of red darkening his cheeks. 

He leaned close, lips brushing the shell of his husband’s ear, “Is it, Commander?”

Cue the shiver. Dean smiled and pressed a soft kiss into his cheek. They swayed quietly for a while. Sunlight started to retreat as songs effortlessly segued into softer and softer ones.

It felt like the beginning of some indiscernible adventure. 

Which was ridiculous, because the only change was that they’d be alone for the first time in forever. No onlookers or interrupting wookiees and no social obligations beating at their door. 

Maybe that was it.

There was nothing stopping them from just being, anymore.

An idea poked into his mind, wiggling for attention.

“Cuddle bunny,” he started, the ridiculous endearment falling off his tongue automatically. 

Cas huffed. “Yes, my bonny bumblebee?” He cringed immediately. (As he should. Castiel _sucked_ at this game.)

“The kids will be off soon,” he started, feeling inexplicably hesitant. Cas started looking wobbly at that so he hurried on, “Sam and Jess are heading to Oziome for months of ‘research’. Jody’s staying put for the time being, so it’s not like Bobby _needs_ me around.” Cas blinked slowly. That little frown told him he had no idea what Dean was getting to. 

He changed tactics, “You ever seen Niagara Falls? Hiked the Grand Canyon? Looked up to try and see the tops of redwoods?”

“Yes. I found time to do _all_ that between the destitute orphanhood and the intergalactic trips,” Cas grumped.

Dean licked his lips. He didn’t miss the beat of faltering attention in Cas’s gaze. “That’s my point. You’ve been to dozens of galaxies, scores of planets, and you’ve never actually fallen into a tourist trap.” Before he could get a snide retort, he pecked his husband on the lips. Just to bide over the silence till he got this out. “We could do that now. Together. You, me, Baby and the open road.”

“Oh.”

Yeah. ‘Oh’. _Fucking finally_.

There was a little spark in those blue eyes. A little motionlessness that indicated Cas was in deep thought. 

Once, he’d have to wait it out. Now? He’d decoded the Castiel-isms. He smiled. 

The germ of exhilaration took root.

~~~ 

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow. That was an experience. Couple of things, before I forget:-  
> 1) ASTERIA - I came up with a full-form, but I'm no Marvel writer so it may make _zero_ sense. Anthropomorphized System To Expediate Resource/Intelligence Acquisition. I was very caffeinated, whoops?  
> 2) Schrödinger's Rowena - This is not canon, and these days I'm not feeling very cordial towards the writers (except the two good ones). If you'd rather prefer the box unopened, ignore this part. _I_ personally like to believe Rowena is alive and well, probably out there in outer space terrorizing a small sect of space traffickers and having multiple consensual orgies.  
> 3) A final thank you to Diamond, for their gorgeous [art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950173), and Saturn and Elephino, because otherwise this would have been 40k of bad grammar and incoherence.
> 
> And thank _you_ for reading this!
> 
> Check out the other works in DCRB2021 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/dcrb2021/works).


End file.
